I went back to the Mexican joint. The one with the shrimp. You know the place. It’s loud. It smells like lard and cleaning products and the heavy, desperate perfume

I’m leaning against the bar, looking at a reflection that finally stopped looking like a cautionary tale and started looking like a threat. I’m officially forty pounds lighter than the

So, the psychiatrist reads the file. He sees the cat killing. He sees the massage parlor. He sees the rage against the “societal rot.” And he adjusts his glasses, purses

It’s December. The desert air is getting thin. And I am sitting in a boardroom, smiling until my face hurts. We just won the QA Award. We won the Highest

I poured another drink, the ice clinking against the glass like a tiny, frozen gavel, and stared at the empty chair across from me. That’s where he usually sits—the Drunk

I’ve spent fifty-seven years saying “Yes.” “Yes, I’ll take the job.” “Yes, I’ll pay the bill.” “Yes, I’ll listen to your problems.” “Yes, I’ll try to fix you.” “Yes, I’ll

Christ. That is the single most accurate description of my life in the United States I have ever heard. I’ve been sitting here, in this Tucson apartment, wondering why I

I sat down with the analysis. The “Psychic Report.” The breakdown of the machinery that drives the man called James. And for the first time in a long time, I

I call her Hoodwink. I met her on a dating site, back when I was fresh meat in Tucson and didn’t realize that the “dating pool” here is actually a

I’m leaning against the bar, the ice in my glass is melting, and I’m looking at the exit sign. If you want the truth about how a man prepares to