Our last bottle finishedno said my Russian friendthere are always seven drops leftseemed empty to me he holds the bottle up and waitsexactly seven dropsthere..

was not a metaphor, and I like to thinkthe weed wasn’t either, the wayit took me three monthsto smoke half an ouncebecause I had one..

He was a peddler in a horse-drawn wagon that sank beneath a load of watermelons, canary-yellow corn, bushels of gladiolas and mountains of ruby-red grapes...

To not go home in January, I will burn my new calendars, as if they were bridges. An exercise just for show? What do you..