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“I’ll bring him to the party,” Elena told her brother Rafael over the phone. “You’ll like him.” “Hey, this sounds serious. Is he the one?”

Art by: Luis Torruella

Short Story

Arte Karenina Angleró

Art Eva C Torruella-Gratacos

Dusk comes early in December even in the tropics. It was five o’clock on a Friday afternoon...

New York is the trusted tapestry...

(Homage to Billy Collins’ poem The Future) When I grow old and older and older, when the day after tomorrow Is the last day after...

My grandmother’s mother lived in a round house, the smallest of towers hugged by vines, accessed by a bridge, a moated place. Her picture...