where the writers are
The Stories We Tell

Emma Balfour walked into my life in the summer of 2003. Our paths collided on Ocean Beach, the 3-mile stretch of gray sand and graffiti-spattered seawall marking the western edge of the city.

It was a cold day and the beach was buried in dense fog, the kind of fog that makes you feel as if you are lost in some strange dream. It was in this bleak landscape that the child appeared, wearing a red sweatshirt, blue jeans rolled up to her calves, no shoes. She was carrying a small yellow bucket...

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