I visited seventy-three countries between 1997 and 2017 – backpacking and working for a cruise line. A sliver of that experience has worked its way into my stories.
I arrive at Kadir’s Tree Houses the same day as Kate, a blonde Californian who changes lovers as easily as she changes trains.
At low tide, mighty Atlantic waves crash onto the sheltered beach where fifty physically fit, unclothed youths lounge in brilliant sunshine, enjoying a pristine and elemental paradise.
It is impossible to travel Italy without becoming a pilgrim.
One apple goes up, two come down. The movement catches my eye.
Choosing the cheapest youth hostel means staying in the suburbs and taking public transit to Prague. That’s where I hear the voice of God.
Stray cats spoiled his romantic notions of Venice. They fought all night, the cats did, somewhere beneath the window of the hostel where Mark stayed.
Indifferent to me, the dolphin continues nosing my wife’s abdomen. Julie shrieks and I picture the next bite ripping her open.