III. The Shooting

The war has ended. Months have passed and the rider, with a great sin on his back, stops his horse at the crest of a hill. It slopes down near a river and is made of mostly dirt and dried grass. He dismounts the appaloosa, and he takes his rifle out of the saddle and … Continue reading III. The Shooting

The City in the Cleft.

On a life raft in the middle of the South Pacific.  I feel my memory drifting. I can only tell you how I got here. It was in a seedy corner of the world, near the sea, where bad ideas gathered. I met him in a cantina off the Rio Chepu. He told me that … Continue reading The City in the Cleft.