A card table supported the sheeted tent that sheltered me while I sat underneath, leaning against the fluffy pillows of my bed. It was a familiar little world. I was seven years old and suffering from chronic bronchitis. The vaporizer…

One can never go back. Time moves forward, and so must we; therefore, whatever moment is left behind is suspended action – the final glimpse of the present in passing, the beginning of that which is vaguely referred to as…