The cicadas pierce the air with their searing one-note calls; dust eddies across the roads; from the weedy patches at the verges, grasshoppers whir. The leaves of the maples hang from their branches like limp gloves; on the sidewalk my shadow crackles.

“There's the story, then there's the real story, then there's the story of how t…”

“I believe in the resistance as I believe there can be no light without shadow; …”

“Kill what you can't savewhat you can't eat throw outwhat you can't throw out bu…”

“There I am, in the Grade Six class picture, smiling broadly. Happy as a clam, i…”