Tin Fork

I think I’m in love. Again. With tacos. I’ve been tramping the streets of Old Town. I can see it’s trying hard to get back on its partying feet. And yes, places like Cafe Coyote ...

The green islands break up the windblown sheets of water. It looks like an archipelago seen from a plane. But we’re only on a bridge, 15 feet above the Sweetwater River. That’s just the start ...

It’s heading towards nine in the am. People stand around impatiently, shoulders hunched, hands in pockets, looking up the steps to the deck like they’re waiting for the return of David Bowie. They’re about that ...

The blue flame dances in and out of focus. The Green Fairy sparkles in front of my eyes. I can feel her hypnotizing me. I’m seeing seven veils, I’m thinking “Scheherazade,” “Salome.” My eyelids are ...

‘OORAH!” This is Kevin, popping his head through the window. He’s an ex-Marine. Also a neighbor. We’ve started these five o’clock follies, always involving grog, arguments, and lots of snacks, from peanuts to carrot sticks ...