It’s knife-wielding season in Little Havana. Last week a tremoring, teenage ladrón stripped Manny of his gold link bracelet outside the Pollo Tropical.

I got my bucket of wine and inebriated myself to the point that my head no longer pounded in pain. No, far from it, it buzzed like a lost airplane.

Not everyone could see it – someone passing on the street wouldn’t notice – but she could.

I suddenly want to hold you, or hit you. I stare at your face trying to commit every line to memory.

The corners of his mouth twitch upward, but they don’t move far enough to become a smile.

That’s the scariest part of Them. They. Not the letters or terror or killing or hate. When it’s day they turn into neighbours and friends and maybe even family

Feed, she wants to feed, the midwives said. They pushed the creature’s face onto my left nipple.

…my anxieties about the child got the better of me and I finally went in and passed through into that other house.

The future had changed since meeting the English teacher last summer. She had cried without tears and promised to send him guitar strings from London…

Two days later, the doorbell rang. George answered it in his underpants, assuming it was the postman.

Dale’s son called him to say he was being discharged.

He lifts his fists to his face and inspects the damage; eyes unnaturally popped open