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The rock sat. Mossy and wet, In the creek, Where the girl played. The girl balanced on a log at the entrance to the tunnel and peered in. It was dark in there, and she couldn't see much farther than the first meter or two.  There was slippery orange gunk everywhere, and it smelled like pee, but there was light at the other end. She didn't really want to do it, but her Dad was mowing the lawn. If he saw her crossing the road, then she'd be in trouble. She braced her feet on either side of the running water, ducked her head, and waddled through the culvert as fast as she could. The girl emerged victorious on the other side, and leaped ont

The street is lined with a motley assortment of businesses-- everything from hole-in-the-wall record stores, to high-end fashion boutiques, to large alternative enterprises. There's a grimy-looking falafel joint once every block or so, and a pizza parlour for every day of the week; you have to wonder how they all stay in business. There are a handfuls of tattoo shops, numerous licensed establishments, and a store completely devoted to smoking implements. It's easy to tell why they're so successful from just a quick glance at the sidewalks.   Gutter punks, crazy old people who talk to themselves, and professional slackers fill the c

"What would your wife say if she knew you were here?" "Well, I hope she'd say at least something." "That upset, huh?" "I never said that. I might actually want her to mind, though." "What do you mean?" "I wish that she would just care-even just a little." "Do you love her?" "Yes." She looked at me with sad eyes as if to say 'Oh, you poor dear', but what comes out of her mouth is "Shall we get started, then?" My name is Barry Brooks and I lie to hookers about the existence of a wife I've never met. It's not that she isn't real; it's just that I don't know her yet. I like to think that her name is Mary, and she is beautiful in every w