Kate Hartland

You're going to crash this car, she said to him, and glass splintered around her like a halo. Pressure forced the metal sides to fold like a slice of American cheese. The tires burned against the asphalt as he tried, unsuccessfully, to stop, turn, slow. Her bones cracked and splintered, flesh …

How do laundromats make their money? They pay utilities for the constantly running washers and dryers and have to count piles of coins to make up for it. It seems like a grossly mismatched payoff, but the same could be said about you and me and I'm still here. I've been writing a lot about…

Day One. Arrive, gawk. Join the masses. See, walk, buy. Eat. Drink. Dream.

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I'd like to be in Paris. I am a different person there. My insides do not shake. My body does not weigh a thousand pounds more than it should. In Paris, there is a world of investigation and exploration and new, brand new. Cafes and boulevards and huge, sacred monuments to forces we humans cou…

Palabra.

Yesterday, as the clouds blew across the sky and the sidewalk cracks told time, I wrote a story in my head. It matches the bruises on my thighs and the crack in my forehead. 
Something inside of me has been uneven lately. Tilted. The sun helps, but I'm still not sure how swallowing a capsule c…