She who roams by the cemetery
I don’t know whether the woman who roams by the cemetery is Romany, but she is very much lost.
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Writer
Good as Gold
He repeatedly gurgled, ‘Marieme, Marieme.’ And something about accara fritters and sosu kaani sauce.
The purples of Ronda
We discuss whether or not to distance ourselves from other tourists, without having the language to validate what in other times, would be labelled a prejudice.
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With a bit of perspective
Nothing seemed especially different that day, except perhaps the dissonance between the honeyed glow of the sun in people’s smiling faces and the intuition none of us could afford to be complacent.
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Mandarins in April
Houssem’s yellowing teeth flicker like the flame rising from the pyre of Saharan cypress.
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The commercial conundrum: dissolving or embracing queerness
When we’re constantly defining new identities and it’s core to our sense of self to play with these, can’t we be more ambitious for advertising and the narratives the industry is creating?
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Quarantine
Between flailing limbs, the expanse of Earth comes into view until the Pacific is obscured by Dimitri’s dancing palms.
…tips, reflections, helplines.
This is pretty fucking shit. But we can all help each other to try and make it a bit less shit. Less judgement. More kindness.
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Those first days
Slumped, his head a heavy weight resting in his palm, he woke for a moment but then returned to the dread of his television screen
The blessing of the stork
Driving here helps me to forget. I know the route well, with its curves and canyons.
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