I don’t know how many flies I watched die. At least 30. Lying in my tent, heavy with exhaustion as August rain spat down, I stared up at the mesh ceiling and watched one fly after the next get stalked, stung, and devoured by yellow jackets. Over the course of…

By Kristopher Drummond When I met Bob, we were in his assisted living apartment, a dark room little bigger than a hotel suite, with stale notes of the previous occupants’ cigarette smoke still hanging in the air. He was resigned to his mechanical recliner, a gaunt figure dwarfed by overstuffed…

Life is a story. Or it seems that way, at least. The entire human enterprise as commonly envisioned is a complex web of temporal relationships, held together through the grammatical abstraction of language. Every utterance relating to the past has no reality besides that which we assign through our trust…