The Weight of Unfinished Games
I keep a small, rusted marble in a velvet-lined box on my desk, a relic from a game played on a sidewalk that no longer exists. It is chipped, its once-vibrant swirl of blue now dulled by the friction of years spent rolling through dirt and…
The Unblinking Witness
My first instinct was to look away. We are conditioned to find meaning in the human face, to search for a reflection of our own anxieties in the eyes of another person. When we are presented with something else—something sharp, avian, and…
The Weight of the Stride
I have always been suspicious of the man in the suit. There is a performance in the tailoring, a rigid architecture meant to signal that the wearer is going somewhere important, that he has a destination that justifies the starch and the seam.…