Follow my stories

I found an envelope in my mailbox one Wednesday afternoon, on my way home, postmarked for the next day — Thursday, even though it was still only Wednesday, and postal stamps are the kind of thing that get misdated a…

My apartment’s assistant — everyone just calls theirs Nameless, because nobody bothers naming a voice that lives in the wall, and somehow everyone lands on the same obvious, slightly ironic solution — has been with me for three years, since…

Everyone in the city was thirty-four years old. At least according to the records. Children did not grow up, the elderly did not age, and the dead did not remain dead. Every morning, people woke up at the exact same…