text by: GVGK Tang // USA || illustration by: tom moore // Germany
The ambience shifts. What looked like a stilted high school dance – stagnant bodies strewn awkwardly across a dance floor – now feels like an Ivy League dining club. The white male old heads all know each other and group off.
text by: Anna Geary-Meyer // Germany || photo by: Verena Spilker // Germany
The second job I find on Craigslist is wiping the butt of a three-year-old whose favorite food is salami. No one tells me three-year-olds need help on the toilet, so this comes as a surprise. We get in a fight over the last bread roll one afternoon and I quit.
text by: Ambika Thompson // Canada || illustration by: tom moore // Germany
I was passing through the main square of a village, selling pelts so I could feed all the children I have at home, when a man tried to stick his hand up my skirt. Without hesitation I slapped him in the face
text by: Janielle Love Williams // USA || illustration by: Verena Spilker // Germany
I’m the descendent of a lineage of lycanthropes. As far back as we can trace, the Martins have shed their human coats at midnight of the full moon and roamed the night in packs. Shape shifting is an ability granted only after puberty. Needless to say I spent my childhood in anticipation.