On the following evening, down in Hollywood, I slid my cell phone back into a front pocket of my trousers and stood outside a bar Reid and his friends frequented. I felt as if I were on a film set in a desert and overcome with the futility of it.

The Incident at the Gate

Mita was a colourful raconteur; we would relentlessly hound her for stories. She would twist, stitch, plaster and convey anecdotes procured from her mother She possessed an enigmatic glint in her eyes that would plague us to pursue her more and more.


If you’re alone, "ghanghai" will not attack. Best be completely alone. A month ago, one fired missiles at a woman and her cow. Half the mountainside came down. Grandfather and others picked through rubble. Found hooves and headscarf. No body.