Aaron Balkan

A man opens his briefcase to double check, and a wind lifts the papers out of his lap, tossing them over his head like hovering sea birds. It whips a newspaper at him, then flyers torn from lampposts, plastic bags, a tablecloth from an outdoor café— more paper covers his feet and the bench and […]

In the dump the two-story house sliced in half lay on its crushed bay windows, so it rained sideways into every room. To get there I ran across then highway, then, chased by two German Shepherds, through the old Indian School, said to be haunted by a girl who killed her white teacher then herself. […]