Three-part Essay Series on Branding and Social Media, Publishing Essay #1 March 12, Essay #2 March 17, and Essay #3 March 24 A brand is a promise and value created for those using a product or service. For example, customers value Yeti’s superior coolers, drinkware, and bags and the brand’s focus on the outdoors and […]
Intrepidus Ink: Brand Identity Read More »
At the massive, open-air pulga, a man could get his car windows tinted, save his eternal soul, and lose it again—all in one place—while a soundtrack of Ranchero and reggaeton blared from every stall. Jared didn’t need snakeskin boots or chicharrones. But he’d pay anything to see his daughter again. A
La Perla de Gran Precio Read More »
My bike’s brakes squealed; the wind blew away the sound, and browny yellow leaves battered me. The windows of her house watched me as I clamboured off and leaned the bike into the hedge–they were black and hungry and staring, like the eyes of a monster, ready to gobble me up. I pulled
As soon as Carna steps into the lift, her pager notifies her of a job on the other end of the galaxy. The pay would cover her rent, but should she choose to accept the run, the cosmic bike courier would, as the ad promises, have to make it all the way across
A Galaxy Run in 30 Minutes or Less Read More »
By the dim light of a dying candle, Grandmother’s hunched back looms over your small, quivering body, fever high. She presses horn against stone—withered skin pulled taut over smooth bone. Smooth bone hard against jagged, carved rock, pour water, mix—the murky water is magic. When did her hands stop looking like
An Elegy for Horns Read More »
I was five days overdue. “Go fetch the washing off the line,” Mom said, “let’s see if that gets things started.” So I grunted down over my belly, grabbed the laundry basket, and lumbered through the yard in bare feet. I glanced back. Mom was watching my slow progress from the back step,
With the summer solstice sun melting into the horizon, Ulrike hits the gas pedal and screeches out of Glendale along the I-5 to East Hollywood, where she parks in front of a Walgreens boasting a “now with extended hours” sign. With trembling…paws, she adjusts the rearview mirror to check her reflection. Hair—coarse and
Rachel sneaked aboard at six bells, deep in the night. The ringing masked her tread. The snores of the sailors cloaked her steps, but still, the floorboards creaked. She thought of her sister, held hostage behind the cold stone in Boston Gaol. Rachel steeled herself. She had to get to Nassau.
I saved the world once. Twice, if you count that time in Budapest. But that was back in my glory days with The Agency. Back when secrets were stored on microfiche, and guys like me could do our job with a poker face and a whole lotta badass. When
I saw my first hanging in Wapping when I was four years old. My father swung me up on his shoulders so I could see across the rabble of spectators. The prisoner was a scrawny youth accused of stealing a gentleman’s horse, and as they dragged him to the gallows, his britches darkened
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