Until recently San Diego could boast no Saville Row, no Place des Victoires. It was content to have a few designer shops dispersed among its pastoral malls and the odd British tailor tucked away in …

This story was primarily written because of thoughts and feelings I have about female addicts. I have been a heroin addict for 20 years. I am on my fourth prison term because of my need …

Is that you?’ the burly black social worker asked me. pointing to a 13-digit code handwritten on a page in a huge and dirty ledger. The code was my Social Security number plus four digits …

When you get out of your car to investigate, you will find nothing but a circle of trailers in the middle of the desert, a corral of lights like the lanterns hung in a circle of pioneer wagons.

He was a psychologist overcome by dread. Dread so dark it was biblical. He had no more idea what to do or why than his patients. He was supposed to know. This was 20 years …

“Come on, you slut! Pick it up before I put a cap in your ass!” This was no idle threat, for a fully loaded Colt Python lay near at hand in a large Ziploc freezer …

Vigilant readers may recall an article published in these pages last fall. It was a story about used cars and hubris — deep, seductive, mind-enchanting hubris. I still remember, precisely, making a left off Orange …

“If we knew then what we know now, we’d have done Fiesta Island a little differently,” Earnest reflects. “We would have mixed the west bay sand with the east bay muck to fill Fiesta Island.”

On Highland Avenue, in the heart of National City — a mile-and-a-half-long boulevard along which the city's gangs conduct their lethal parades on weekend nights — a red car sits in a small parking lot …