Carl W. Bosch

The streets of Trieste were washed with a gray rain that mirrored the sky and the Adriatic Sea. Gone were the hot days of summer with bathers crowding the beaches, tan lines slowly fading from young topless women and men sporting thongs. A cruise ship had crossed from Venice with its tourists ready for a journey to the Mediterranean despite the weather. Café-goers had moved indoors to enjoy lively conversation, aperitivi and white wines. School had begun, and few children cou

Dolls. Dolls. Dolls. They’re lovable, laughable, cuddly, the constant companion for young children. Looked at another way they might be...

Annie hammered her nearly frozen fist on the large metal door, the sound muffled by her climbing glove within her ski mitten. She...