Art of the Escape
She wrapped the figurine in cotton. It was €100, but it was probably a bargain. The man who made it was sitting behind his work desk, a blue flame of heat in front of him. He was working the piece of glass with what looked like no effort, while talking to me, finding out about w…
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The sun sets early here. Earlier than you think it should, what with the heat and all. After a few days, the smell of the perfume you use starts to lin…
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The last says of August always feel like the last days of summer, even if they aren’t. The real end is my birthday, the first day of fall or autumn, bu…
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She sent a message — are you here yet? I’m almost there. The train was just pulling into the station after crossing the long bridge from the main land …
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Will walks into the bar looking uncomfortable until he sees us, then he relaxes a bit. He’s wearing a suit because he wants me to take his picture. Wil…
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We’re at the far north end of the island, past the hotels, near the wild sea grasses cling to the dunes. The beach here is covered in seashells. You ca…
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He stands at the waters edge, eating tomatoes like apples, which doesn’t appear to be so strange to him, but he notices that there are a couple of old …
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Is it the salty water that stings my eyes? The sun lotion? Is it the sparkling reflection or the wink from the waitress as I order a coffee? Is it the …
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Art of the Escape


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