I took the binoculars away. “Only fat kids do bird-watching. Pick again.”
On Halloween, the neighborhood children dress up like neo-conservatives and go door to door spreading lies.
Still, now in his mid-twenties, Allen often imagines what it must be like to have "underwater eyes."
Somewhere over the hill a siren went off. There was a gunshot, and then the siren stopped.
He was told that his condition was rare and always fatal. Gremlins with tiny pickaxes deconstructing his heart. He might die tomorrow, or in a year.
Every now and again, she’d yell out, “Four hundred and fifty-one dollars, idiot number two! Goddamn you, you’re losing, loser!” but mostly, she just sat slack-jawed until one of the nurses came by to give her another plate of mush…
Dave and Bob D. are sober-buddies. They never drank together. That’s why Bob D. can say "lovely" and "beautiful" to Dave and not get punched.
Ben Sobel tests cosmetic products on small, restrained mammals for a living. He puts makeup in their eyes and records how long it takes to destroy the corneas. He shaves them and applies nail polish to skin. He puts hand lotion into orifices. This is a real thing he does, for money.
At home, my parents, both children of the ’60s, eschewed the "evils" of caffeine in lieu of wheatgrass shakes and soy milk slurpees. However, thrust into my newfound fame, I fell full-bore into the lifestyle.
I crave the heavy earth and stiff air of this city. That’s why I stay here. I like the dusty museums of old houses, their bookcases the threshold of love and information. I make it to the Julianne’s Mom’s old mosquitoed house in the dead part of the night, half past midnight, crickets and neighbors’ […]
-1- Three men stood statue-like in an isolated corner of the otherwise bustling loft, gazing in mock adoration and secret scorn at the outlandish clay sculpture blocking their view of the rooftops, church steeples and crumbling smokestacks of Ohio City. The sculpture, by far the largest exhibit in the newly restored warehouse, seemed to wobble […]
The hawkers’ cries herald the beginning or the winding down of any given day here. Now it’s half past five o’clock p.m., and the sound of their sonorous voices as they walk up and down Peaceful Quiet Street stretches into its forte. "Buy a newspaper!" "Need your shoes cobbled? Need them polished?" "I can fix […]
And after pointing out the way to the bathroom Charette found herself quickly scuttling away, if only to prevent herself from blurting out how another vous could earn him the special surprise of a cake with ground-up glass in it.
He was somebody all right, except of course for the bitter fact that he had been fired from every job he’d listed on his resumé. You’ve got to think the guy is either confident or nuts.
Billy was somewhat ashamed of his father, embarrassed some as well, at his father’s now lethargic and flabby body. He decided that his ass would be the new target.