I never mentioned my big picture book to Angie. I met her just after Brando had declined the Oscar to protest Hollywood’s depiction of Native Americans, which for many other Americans including me must have marked the beginning of
to his fellow arachnids: He was, he said, the future. The one. The only. The liquid silk yardstick by which all spinners will be measured. A true blue-blood, he travels the earth with no more than four legs bound
The irony isn’t lost on me — the sushi on my plate speaks, how tragic. On the TV fishermen haul, gut, chastise albacore tuna, their blood clotting for human livelihood and I think about Alaska, her blood-bright salmon spotted