I was already swingin' the bat before I was even proper awake.

Slowing his steps as he neared the underpass, Patrick Morrow felt certain of two things: the sanctity of art, and acid reflux.

Instead of the quick connection she was expecting through Calgary, she had all the time in the world.

I’m wearing a grey wig to my baby daughter’s funeral so no one will recognize me.

The days are short. Nights, long, frigid, etching frosty road maps on the windowpanes.

Gabe squinted as he emerged from his parent’s basement.

Patience came easily after centuries of sweeping beaches for empty shells and souls.

The sun was setting. Still setting. The Golden Hour, they called it.

The first hotel room they stepped into smelled of smoke and old vomit.

It was Thursday night and Alex had arrived at the Dream Forecasting Institute for his weekly appointment.

For a long time, I doubted death.

Megan dangled her feet off the dock as she gazed across Koshlong Lake, remembering fond memories of Camp Wanakita.

Elena opened with her usual disclaimer: “I’m not Russian – I’m Canadian.”

We are always okay or we say we’re okay and for years we believe this is the same thing.

I’ll start with me raking Exter’s loutish grinning cat-face with my nails.