Perplexes result more in hides than honours.

...the summer of the gypsy moths when all the trees in their yard were bare, the leaves chewed by caterpillars. You could hear crunching in the night. You could see silvery cocoon webbing in porch rafter and strung across stop signs.

Cannery Row in Monterey in California is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream.

What’s your name?” “What do you want it to be?” “Are you a vampire?” “Not the last time I checked.

Written By Kresley Cole

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