Image by Christine Renney I try to convince myself it is sudden, this want, this need. It has been growing inside of me, unbidden, a well without water. How can I talk again after so long? Each time it surfaces I suppress it and resist. I could so easily run, abandon the City, and makeContinue reading “GHOST LETTER 33”


Image by Christine Renney ‘Door-to-door sales is a dying art,’ he says. I don’t want to answer, to be pulled into this again but the others around the table are looking at me, waiting. ‘It’s just a job,’ I say at last. ‘A trade,’ he muses, ‘a dying trade.’ The woman sitting beside him, IContinue reading “SALESMAN”