Jimmy Toussaint was a man of opposites. I knew him as a fraud and as a Santeria Wizard, as a friend and as a betrayer. In the end, he might have claimed the same in relation to me. We met outside the Hotel Ontario near the Zocalo in Mexico City and formed a cult of
Tag: harrison kim
Ted held a key attached to a silvery label, it glinted in the sun. “Got it from a girl I travelled with,” he said. “She trusted me to keep it safe.” I looked at the label. “Is that a Vancouver address?” “You bet, man.” We met on the road, heading west at Sault Ste. Marie.
Jackson flows around the streets in a long black cloak that edges right down to his feet. His halo of black and grey hair holds up a dark cowl. At every corner he crawls on his knees and sweeps up the dirt and litter with his bare hands and drops it in a bag he