Tin Fork

“It’s pandemic Armageddon, downtown,” says Jess. She’s the general manager here. She’s just brought out my poutine. “We’re hanging on by our fingernails.” Armageddon? She’s talking about the number of homeless people who come by, ...

“I’ve got a hundred bucks that says we celebrate!” I say. “Uh huh,” says Annie. “Now, on this braw, bricht, moonlicht nicht?” It’s like five o’clock. Dark already. We’re just starting out along the Imperial ...

David hunches over the ocean, elbows on rail, playing his harmonica. He holds long notes. “See? They like it,” he says. “See? See?” And wow. I’m looking below, and two dolphin fins come knifing through ...

It’s green, with golden wounds spilling poached yolks down over roasted, herbed tomato halves and onto a huge side of toasted sourdough bread. You think Croque Madame. I have to ask. “What is this again?” ...

‘When God’s not in heaven, He’s in Jamul,” says Dr. Don. “I know it. I feel it.” This is my 84-year-old bar neighbor, out here on the Campo Road. Just met him. I’ve happened in ...