The tattoo artist on the corner of Davies Street says “Please.” “Please let me write something on your body.” After a while, the needle doesn’t even hurt, he promises, your skin just sort of goes numb. I look up at … Read More
“I look at him. He doesn’t look at me. Just stares straight ahead. He shuts his eyes for a moment, and at first I’m afraid he’s not going to open them again.”
“I sometimes wonder, would you be able to reconstruct some image of me through the objects I’ve left behind? Would you know what I looked like? Smelled like? How I acted in public and in private?”
