Category: pigeon accounts

The way the muscles felt the shock was through inaction. They were accustomed to carrying so much each day, and because of that she had always taken much care to strengthen and stretch and lengthen and soothe them for hours. And then suddenly, one day, it all stopped. The load dropped. The work—the work she…

People were stopping in the middle of intersections like idiots to take pictures of the moon. Somehow, the taxis allowed it to happen. You’ll never get it right, she wanted to yell. But people were afraid to look and feel. They wanted to look and pass the feeling along without sitting in it. You need…

She had been away from the orchid for six nights. Truthfully she had forgotten about it until she returned to her makeshift room in the attic. She put her bags down and ran to it, nearly smacking her head on the pitched ceiling. Two stems that stood parallel when she saw them last now leaned…

There is a strength in the flower district in the morning. She felt it through her nose as the sour summer garbage and chalked bus exhaust abruptly ended and an earthy sugar triumphed. She stood next to an old woman who was piling the discards of cut green filler material into a cart with something…

On Sunday the men arrived in rusted vans filled with junk and crafts to sell. They laid sheets down on the Avenue of the Americas and lined up old George Foreman grills that promised mean leanness, shoes made from stiff and colorful plastics, carved wooden masks that were either screaming or crying or both. Nothing…

The hotel bar in the daytime had many empty seats. She sat and asked for an espresso. The bartender asked where she was from, and she forgot to lie. She could have said anywhere. She had practiced earlier, now that she belonged to no one, saying she was from Spain, Toronto, the Galapagos, Uzbekistan, Oklahoma.…

Some things got looser: Her pants. Her bra. Her watchband. And some things got tighter: Her budget. Her gait. Her arms wrapped around herself. Everything was changing. Skin peeled off. Hair fell out. Food vomited up. Changing, but not disappearing. Replacing. The word she kept coming back to was “molt.” Looking in the mirror she…