Greetings, dear readers!
I’m currently writing this editorial in Montréal at my family’s dinner table with the back door open and a slight breeze rustling papers next to me. It’s still a bit brisk with spring on its way out but I’ve been admiring the recently bloomed peonies in our garden.
By Madeline Ewanyshyn
It’s a Thursday when Dad tells me that Mom has died, so I’m allowed to swear to my heart’s content.
“Oh fuck,” I say, while feeding my tortoise Henry a piece of kale, “Oh dammit what rotten luck and terrible terrible shit.”
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