If I were here.
If I were here I would spend the morning steeping ground coffee over fireplace embers. I would sip a cup full of it by the window as I curled cat-like, my fingers slowly warming around the clay mug.
I would open the door to let the first light in and it would cast a gold-specked ray of dawn on the floor. Read More
This is how it ends.
That was my first thought when, surrounded by couples at a honeymoon resort in Phuket, a fish bone lodged in my throat.
Choking, I scanned the beach-side restaurant, my only access to first-aid, an overpriced mojito.
I turned wide-eyed to the couple sitting next to me. The woman was preening in the fire-side filter of her iPhone, puckering her lips and tilting her head at the screen like a puppy.
I clutched at my throat. This wasn’t death-by-selfie which is totally a thing now, but death-near-selfie which is considerably more pedestrian and that’s really saying something.