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What does it mean to linger in the face of extinction? How do we gather that immensity into our short lifespans?
Angry is an anthology of monologues by Philip Ridley, perhaps Britain’s most distinctive living playwright.
Litro Magazine’s November 2017 issue is filled with stories about what goes on after darkness has fallen, when we think no one’s watching, or after-hours, when everything’s shut.
A charming lively plaza in el barrio de Gracia, behind a lone lit window on the third floor, a nineteen-year-old girl smokes a cigarette.
I was kneeling handcuffed on the floor of a church in a knitted red balaclava – not my average Thursday evening by a long shot.
It was an ant exploring my fingers. A lovely companion to indifference. The extreme hourglass of its shiny black body corseted in perfectly with the dress code.
Too much misery toughens the heart, whereas the best art softens it. Jeannette Walls’s The Glass Castle is art of the latter kind.
If the conversation stays with ‘God’ – and it seldom does – where it goes can only be based on what people understand by the word ‘God’.
In Baghdad, there is a street that is famous for its many book shops and it’s named after the greatest Arab poet of all time, Al-Mutanabbi.
At Shakespeare & Company in Paris, myths and legends reside quietly beside an ocean of books lining those fabled shelves.
My body resonated with the rhythm of the train, pushing me into my thin, questionable mattress. Old sweat sealed my skin to the fabric.
A young woman marries beneath her family’s standing and awaits her husband’s ravishing on her wedding night.
They started rebuilding the sewers the week I left Belfast. Now they were fully underway the smell overpowered everything.