It is but agony of desire. —Edgar Allan Poe, from “Tamerlane,” 1827 The soup has a bit to go,” Anna said, pulling out a chair at the small table by the door. “Do you want something to drink?” “No. Thanks.” I sat across from her. She rubbed her hands over the leather portfolio. “This was a surpris...
Even in November, the temperatures in Houston could reach the sixties, like on this day. Sitting on a park bench with a bucket of chicken between us, anyone looking on would think we were just normal people out enjoying a beautiful afternoon and an early dinner. But we wer...
The Last Concert Café had been built in the late forties, and the modern glass and chrome city of Houston had popped up around it, leaving it as an untouched time capsule right at the base of the interstate off-ramp. There wasn’t a sign out front, and you had to knock twice on the red arched door...