My Walk with Sin

A short story

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Going West

When the airplane banked, I had my first glimpse of the CN Tower, rising like an upended middle-finger. I was immigrating to Canada, and the huge butterflies in my stomach were only growing bigger. The aircraft swooped down, landing with a thud, and raced down the runway hell for leather . . .

The Night at Marble Arch

“I am not for this,” he thought as he stumbled down the stairs, wheezing, unable to keep up with his own clumsy feet. And then, almost simultaneously: “I can’t even hear myself think over this racket!” The air raid siren—like a tail-less, one-eyed alley cat protesting the fresh tear in its shoulder and the sticky blood on its coat—mewled oppressively in the close and heavy darkness . . .