About a year and a half ago I had the good fortune of living in London and seeing some pretty inspiring literary events. One of them was Literary Death Match. Now that I’ve been back in Vancouver for seven months, I have the incredible good luck to be participating in
The fake British accent I would put on when ordering coffee so that the Polish girls behind the counter could understand me. Men who whispered ‘sexy’ under their breath as I walked through the Common. Sitting on the top of a double-decker watching Trafalgar Square, Piccadilly and Kensington roll past.