Stories

Arrested Flight

In the town of my youth, the sky is always blue. The cobbled streets are coated with Mars-colored dust, or what I imagine Mars to be, an orb of windy red-brown dirt, its life locked under a frozen sea.

Somewhere in Texas

It was a hundred pounds of Mexican weed somewhere in Texas. I’d never been to Texas. Steve, my guy in Vermont—who smuggled grass into Canada in the winter, using snowmobiles to cut through remote wooded sections across the border, far from roads—seemed interested.