Sebastian Malloy – Ad Victoriam!

Every Cat’s Got a Bit of an Asshole in Him

Every Cat’s Got a Bit of an Asshole in Him

Popeye as a Role Model

What’s In Your Head

A Postcard to Rivi

Paranormal Tinglies

Things From the Archive

Typhoid Magpie

From her bedroom, Rivi brings me a copy of a used book she’s picked up earlier in the day: The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. “I found it at Green Apple,” she says. “It was mis-shelved in the poetry section.” I turn the book over and look...

Ghost From the Archives

Cultural Archaeology

Rivi and I are waiting for the BART to arrive. The low hum of distant trains hovers in the air of the underground station like the thrum of surf against the shore. Rivi pokes at the back of my neck with her fingernail. “You got sunburned,” she says. “Is it...

Ghost From the Archives

Constellations of Desire

Hannah plays Iggy Pop through the speakers of her iPhone as we walk down the wooded path, which leads to an overlook by the Golden Gate Bridge. The wheels of traffic buzz like honeybees on the pavement from just out of sight. I glance over at her as we walk,...

Ghost From the Archives

The Recent Past

Every Cat’s Got a Bit of an Asshole in Him

A large orange cat sitting in the open window of a house

The library in Winchester is open four days a week, and today is one of those days. We have come to escape the heat, and because we haven’t had the chance to visit the library yet, which is a crime in a civilized world. The building is small, no larger really than a fast food restaurant along the highway, but it’s got a charm that is unmistakable. It’s brick, for one thing, which makes it stand out in a town of mostly wooden buildings, and there’s an old cannon out front, pointed at the weed shop across the street (there…

Popeye as a Role Model

Interior of a general store, with wooden shelves full of candy on one side of the image, and wooden floors and walls for the building

We are out of butter and short on cream, so Hunter and I decide that a trip to the general store in town is in order. It’s too far to walk, but a half hour drive isn’t too bad, and there is still enough of the city people in us that we like to get out and about a little now and again, although I feel that’s a trait that is slowly dying out in us. The pollen is thick in the air here today, and we almost have to scrape it off the windshield of the car before we…

What’s In Your Head

In the mailbox this morning, we find an envelope addressed to us from our realtor, the one who had helped us to get this house in the woods in which we now live. Inside this envelope is a second, smaller envelope, like one that would come with a bouquet of flowers, and a folded sheet of paper. Hunter hands the second envelope to me while she reads the letter. “Claire says there’s a key in there,” she says. “Sure is,” I say, having unsealed the smaller envelope and tilted the key out into my palm. It’s an antique-looking thing, all…

A Postcard to Rivi

Paranormal Tinglies

The clock on my phone reads 1:40am, and I finally give up on trying to sleep and crawl out of bed. I slip into the walk-in closet and get dressed by the glow from my phone before heading downstairs for coffee and breakfast. My mood can not in the slightest bit be categorized as pleasant. While I wait for the coffee to brew, I notice that I’ve gotten a message from Rivi waiting on my phone, only five minutes old. Why are you awake at this hour? I text her. My phone immediately vibrates in my hand: Rivi is calling.…

No Take Backs

Rivi is crumpling junk mail newspaper fliers into balls and packing them around the drinking glasses in the box on the counter. “I still find it impossible to believe you guys are moving,” she says. “We’ve been talking about it for years,” I tell her. “You should have been listening, obviously.” “I find it more impossible to believe that you aren’t asking me to come with you.” “The only reason I’m not asking is because I know you’re going to come along anyway.” “Obviously,” she says. “It would be rude of me not to.” I am working on my own…

So Irritating

We are hiding in the blanket fort that Rivi has built in her living room, a semi-permanent and elaborate construction, stretching from chair to chair and bookshelf to bookshelf, nestled in the corner near the door to her bedroom. Christmas lights dangle from binder clips at the top of the fort, and a small Bluetooth speaker rests on the top of a tiny table at the back of the area, softly playing a shuffled playlist of Rivi’s favorite songs. The winter chill is thick in the air, and we are bundled in a collection of Rivi’s blankets, staying warm as…

Twenty Year Storm

The rain is pouring outside, Biblical and a little unsettling. It pounds against the window of Viola’s attic, and the window rattles in its frame against the wind that whips down from the atmospheric river currently pummeling the west coast. “Well,” Viola says. “Guess we aren’t going out on the roof today.” I raise my mug of coffee and take a sip. “I know I’m not. You’re more than welcome to if that’s what floats your boat.” “I’d need a boat if I went out there,” she says. “Goddamn weather.” Viola has an old blue love seat flush against the…