If you’re vaguely into hip-hop music — or you waste as much time on your phone as I do — then you’ve probably heard of the McDonald’s Travis Scott burger by now. Or the Travis Scott Meal, I guess, which is the official name. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, then the ad here can get you up to speed and establish the context pretty well for what I want to talk about here.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8K0lnarZ0oQ

So, McDonald’s and Travis Scott have a brand tie in-that’s very openly a meal you can already get yourself, but now with Scott’s…


Genevieve waved her hands back and forth twice under the hand-sanitizer machine and then went and looked around the back of it to see if something was broken.

“I think it’s broken,” she said, “or they ran out or something — in which case, they’re doing a pretty bad job at helping out right now.” She waved one more time for good measure.

“Uh-huh?” I said. I was thumbing around on my phone and sort of listening, swiping through text messages from my family and reminding myself to get back to them later. “What do you need again?

“Turmeric pills.”…


The first time I ever heard Frank’s music was in the summer of 2012 when I was half-naked in a forest a couple kilometers outside of the city with Galina. It was playing off the speaker on the old shitty phone she had then, balanced upright in a little crevasse between two wet pieces of wood. All of Channel Orange, I’m pretty sure, front to back.

When I asked if she was sure nobody would be coming through where we were, I didn’t get a response, so I changed the subject as quickly as I could and asked what the…


“Ow!” Charlie says, “what the hell, Mom?”

“What?” Stella stops untying her boot for a second and looks over at him. Snow melts off onto the tile. “What’s the matter?”

“You slammed the door on me. I was right behind you, and you just let it go right in my face. What the hell?” Charlie kicks his boots off into the corner and walks past Stella into the kitchen.

“Hey!” Stella stands up — a bit lopsided. She’s got one boot on and one boot off. “Hey watch your language! I just drove you to the hospital and back and…


Sunrise over the subdivision. The chickadees break the silence first, and then the robins and eventually a cicada or two every couple minutes. The air starts to warm a bit. The streetlights turn off all at once.

Rich is out on the balcony sitting in one of the fold-out camping chairs Cassandra got on clearance from the grocery store at the start of the summer. He hasn’t slept at all. He hasn’t slept at all, and it’s — he checks the clock on his phone — five fifty three. Jesus. This is the third time in the last month he’s…


Doctor Szabo moves into the house on Puffin Court right at the end of February — somewhere around then, at least. It’s the middle of February for sure, but none of us can say the exact date. He comes in the middle of this huge, week-long snowstorm we’re having at the time, and so we only notice something’s changed when all the flurries die down and we can see there’s a car in his driveway.

We’re almost certain Doctor Szabo doesn’t leave his house until April. Some of us like to say we saw him moving in during the snowstorm…


Jacob kicks his way through the brush. He feels burrs catch on his arms and in his hair. He feels sticks break under the soles of his Geox Borealises. He tastes the rainwater collecting on the leaves when they catch in his mouth every now and then.

After what seems like a million years of this, he pushes one final branch out of his face and emerges into open air. Thank god. He left the campsite before in a fuss. It was more of a “fuck you” gesture to Dad than an attempt at getting to any one place in…


I didn’t talk to Dad the entire time we were driving. I didn’t even look at him. I just fumbled around with my 3DS and kept my head down while he tapped his fingers along on the steering wheel to the John Hiatt or whatever that was playing and said things like “hoh yeah, it’s really gonna start getting cold soon, I think,” or “if you don’t turn that thing off soon, I’m gonna have to hit the eject button!”

I had no idea where we were supposed to be going. Dad’d made it out to be some kind of…


“Guys,” Mason says, “I think I’m starting to feel it now. Like, for real.”

“Oh yeah?” Charlie laughs, “How so?”

It’s a beautiful Thursday afternoon at Broadway and Kerr. The clouds are swirling and slinking in and out of each other. The leaves on the trees are all waving hello. The ground is breathing.

Mason, Moe, and Charlie are walking. They’re not walking anywhere in particular, but it’s good. It feels good to walk. They’ve all agreed — like they’re on some kind of special mission or adventure or something. Moe’s bedroom was starting to get claustrophobic anyways. …


“It’s because your Dad is being an asshole,” Mom says. She takes a sip of her daiquiri and then drops it back down on the table across from you. A little bit spills up over the side and lands on the paper placemat that’s been set out for the lunch crowds. You watch it melt down from a pink glob of ice into a wet circle underneath the “W” in the “Broadway’s” logo. “He misses two months of the support he’s supposed to be giving me and then has the nerve to ask if we can ‘do Christmas as a…

Ian Anthony Taylor

Upper Canada / Creative writing student at Concordia University ian.taylor.eadg@gmail.com

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