by | | Kenwood, Terry Tales
There’s a black Miata parked right in front of my house taking up prime parking real estate underneath the bird-shit factory, an enormous fichus tree that must’ve escaped someone’s living room in the Twenties and laid its roots by the curb. The little car has a broken...
by | | France, Terry Tales, Terry Travels
For some reason, I’ve avoided Paris since I was twenty-four, a trip punctuated by my peeing the hotel’s feather bed after a night of too many beers. This time, though, couldn’t have been more different and without any urinary mishaps. The past three days captured the...