Who's the guy at the end of the bar shooting me with darts? I tilt my glass in his direction yet he looks through me with hatred. Have I...

Their granddaughter still hunts for secrets in the amputated hands of antique figures. And in her shop the mannequins play along, their...

We walk the steps to old cots and photos. Paul Eluard tells us to stop and not touch. Play softly on ourselves delicate egos. Flowers in...