Issue 7: Winter 2026

All those motorists sitting at traffic lights cursing, should realize that it is not Hydro-Quebec’s fault.  – Hydro-Quebec, 1989 Montreal, Quebec, March 13th, 1989, 3:45am CAMILLE WAS STARTING to regret her choices. Okay, maybe not starting. Something like finishing. There had been a journey, and the destination was regret. She was the sad drunk in…

ON FRIDAY EVENINGS, Tara treated herself to a medium oxtail with rice and peas. ‘I work hard and I deserve it,’ she convinced herself, knowing the twenty-dollar meal was pricey on her monthly budget. The size was just enough to share with Lani without any leftovers except for the brown runny gravy. By the time…

MARLBOROUGH STREET was a dream. Sylvia met me in front of Women’s College Hospital after her shift, and then we took the bus up to her house in Rosedale. I had heard of the houses there – old Toronto homes from the 1900s, or maybe even older, still standing in all their architectural glory –…

WHEN I FINALLY WENT to therapy, we ended up talking a lot about my third year of college. It’s one of those things that you wouldn’t anticipate at first, but it ends up making so much sense you can’t believe you didn’t see it coming. One of therapy’s little treats, I guess: noticing your own…

THE BRILLIANT MORNING LIGHT slicing through the east-facing window leaves Annika feeling exposed. Christopher will continue to lie there on their king-sized bed in all his sweaty, naked glory, but Annika cannot. She grabs the cotton sheet from around her ankles and, with a flick of her wrist, tents it over her, allowing it to…

REBECCA WAS LEAVING him with the baby. After five months, it was surely time that she went out for an evening with friends, yet despite reassurances that he’d be fine – “The main thing is to put her down by eight, and maybe give her a bath” – Ethan was still nervous. He just hoped…

“MAKE SURE you cut off all the green stuff,” I say to my little sister. Eva’s black pigtails are a mess. Loose strands fall to the side as she tilts her head. She squints at the block of cheese. “I don’t see any green.” “Right there.” I point to the streaks of mold along one…

I LOOK AT THE FLOOR-TO-CEILING windows of my office and see nothing but my own reflection in the glass. It is already dark outside when I leave my job on Paulista, an avenue lined with financial institutions and the offices of foreign companies. I drive down Consolation Street to meet friends for dinner as well…