Waiting rooms are long and bleak.Full of people who want to speak.To get your turn is a rare chance. And the lights often flicker.The tension is thick and the coffee is bitter.When they call out your name,you play a game. That...

It’s five-sixteen, rush hour, Poet’s Day, on Friday 20th July 2029. And the temperature outside has risen to 52C, a record high. I lie back in my cool thermal white tee-shirt, matching hipsters, anklets, and soft white ballet pumps,...

A Chef in pristine whites leans languidly against the entrance to La Parade des Chefs' live theatre cooking arena and takes a drag from his cigarette. In the dreary rain and filthy pollution of a murky night in the...