Memoir – Marcos M. Villatoro

The Mission District, Google, and My Pissed-Off Salvadoran Blood

Sometimes I visit the Mission District of San Francisco, where I was born. It’s not the same, and it’s getting worse. Google moved into the

I’m supposed to stay away from the taboos. This is both what my doctor and Michelle recommend. This is a time of rest, they say.

I got a little too close to the core yesterday, when I wrote here on The Writing Bull. The image of the little nude boy

Professor Dick Head (his friends called him Richard) taught a literature class in my undergraduate college. He was a really smart guy. He had the

In the middle of writing the first notes for the novel The Holy Spirit of My Uncle’s Cojones, I recorded the above dream. My son

The woman, in her fifties, had draped a black, webbed veil over her head. Her dress might have been from Sears, bought at a thrift

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