Only In Spaghetti Westerns
Poem I saw tumbleweed for the first time and I thought: “It exists!” I am from one of those old European cities where there are no such things as tumbleweed. So I think...
Author: Sergio Remon Alvarez
Suit of Light
Poem There was that time I saw El Cordobéz in the city of Leganes, sharing the bill with Padilla and Encabo. El Cordobéz was in his golden traje de luces. Still impetuous, disdainful,...
Ode to Bacon
Art Poem Those faces, blurred and smudged as if an artist’s finger had passed over the surface of the paper. What horrors lurk inside your psyche so that you see the world in...
Let the Girls Run
Poem Let the girls run and play untethered like little boys before they are told to cease and be like little girls. For now, let them swirl and swoop and dive like thrushes...
In Rooms Like These
Poem Even now, I see her moon face, those limpid eyes, half slits with sleep, lying in repose beside me. In those days, we lived in bars and boxes. Hers, a refuge in...
River of Rats, Part Two – Aux Folies
We spent a month at a bookstore in the old Latin Quarter of Paris. The old shop had a long history of allowing aspiring writers to bunk there as long as they worked a couple...
River of Rats, Part Three – The Bridge
We woke the next morning in the bookstore, pale and ill, my head in a vice grip, my left arm swollen and sore. Joanna’s hair in knots and mascara smeared all over her face,...
River of Rats, Part Four – Voleur!
The summer came and went in a heavy gossamer haze. We spent days walking up and down the Seine and around the city and we often sat on the tip of the Île de...
River of Rats, Part Five – Pigalle
I don’t remember ever talking about it, or how a decision was made. But one night, we jumped the turn-styles at the Pont Neuf station- because we didn’t have money even for that- and rode...
River of Rats, Part Six – We Are Always Hungry
Serial Fiction Story She went back. And I went with her and sat on the same bench while she leaned on the same wall on the same corner. She didn’t have too, not as...
River of Rats, Part Seven – And Everything
Serial Fiction I woke with a start. How long was I asleep for? The sun was coming up and my bones felt brittle with frost. I had slumped off the bench and fallen to...
The Wind Blew, and the Old House Groaned, Part Three – A Murder
One week later, Mr. McCullers went on his murderous rampage. An inspector came by Harold’s house. “Well, it turns out that you were the last people to have ever spoken to them,” he said....
