| M | T | W | T | F | S | S |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| « Jun | ||||||
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | |||
| 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 |
| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 |
| 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 |
| 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | |
“This is your dream, Marco,” Two Rabbit said. “So you tell me: why are we here? Why do you need to see the funeral again?” Photo by Mait Jüriado
100 bottles of pulque on the wall, 100 bottles of pulque! Take one down, pass it around! Photo by larry&flo.
A single question burned hot in her mind since she’d heard the disquieting news: Where was Audra Fairgood? Photo by Bob Jagendorf.
Marco knew little of death, had not felt its icy fingers upon the heart, but in that moment, Marco came to know death’s song.
The cards felt good in Marco’s hands — they had the worn feel of old paper and pulsed with the warm undercurrent of Satsuko’s energy. Photo by LE
“Everything has more than one story, and every story has more than one point of view. If you know the stories, you can access all the power of the universe.” Art by Katie Knutson
The words of the Christmas carol echoed in his mind, and Marco felt Rubio’s death wash freshly over him. This was all his fault.
Would he, Marco, be a different boy if he had been called Ignacio or Andrés? How much of a person’s fate could be attributed to his name? Photo by Andreanna.
A small group of kids bounded up the gravel drive. They produced their candy bags and sang out a chorus of “Trick or treat!”, their smiling, ruined faces upturned and glowing. Photo by Matt Dale.
Even as his insides reared up and his conscious mind threatened him with every weapon in its arsenal, Marco felt the invisible puppeteer pulling his marionette strings.