Stories

I stared at the blank empty space with mounting disappointment. All that looked back at me from the concrete floor were a few greasy marks and oil drops, the only …

The faded scratched sign invited me onto a “bridge to the past.” What kind of past would I be stepping into and who’s past? Mine or someone else’s? Do I …

We drove into the car park next to Santa Monica pier and found a vacant spot to park. The air was warm, the sea was bright, and we were full …