The Parisian

What would happen If I let the wind guide me and I fell deep into the waters? An elderly man was walking along the pier, gazing out into the water. Surely he would save me. I pictured the water piercing my skin, the ice cold current digging thousands of tiny blades in my body.

Fundamentally indifferent

Who was Xavier? The ambiguity played connect the dots with the rain drops as they formed on the window pane. Through fogged covered glass and an autumn palette decorating the landscape, I stare aimlessly into the mid-afternoon sky.

Dog Whistle Conversation & The Canine Theory.

Drunk on pride and half a bottle of merlot, I sit down and begin to write. During the initial stages of puppy training, teething becomes an act that needs to be nipped in the bud. In a city where men are akin to canines, how do we know the lovers from the fighters, and which ones won’t bite.

Art of the French “Whine”.

The crisp bite of autumn causes commuters to throw on a topcoat and head out into the chilly city. I find that fall has a very distinct smell; I’m not quite sure if it is the fact that everything is dying, but the season seems to fill me with life.   The click of my…

C’est la vie.

Waking up this morning fearful of the day ahead, I attempted to dress more socially conservative for my appointment. Removing the septum ring out of my nose, and pulling a light grey fisherman jumper over my head, I headed out to my first appointment with the therapist who would be performing an analysis on my…