At Penn Beacon market last weekend, I bought a dozen National Geographic magazines (dated some four decades ago, but for one with a beautiful African savanna on the cover, that was from April 1982; the paper of which was considerably thinner) from a man who, as well as cheap collections of periodicals – such as … Continue reading The Dream Job.
He made his way the length of Sumner Road. Cigarette to his bottom lip, constant, pushing an open, dull-metal cart pendanted with scrap trophies; a hubcap, a strappy shoe, a tiny transistor radio. Holstered at its side was a wide shovel, a mean looking yard broom, an oversized pan, a wire brush. From the front … Continue reading The Windmill Arms.
Rabbit gazed with fairly no unease, like this, over the awkward shapes issuing, one by one by one by one from her own soft mouth and she sounded (to these hot ears) to be speaking from just behind the curtain; almost-present. She roller coasted her eyes around her nose and I liked it. So, she … Continue reading Behind the curtain
I am the ghost. I am the breath of a ghost. I am a sigh. I am the blink of an eye. I am a dream. See these headlights and tail-lights? - I am the nothing between. I am the silence, the siren, The thought and the theme. I am the second hand, the minute, … Continue reading Never Been Seen.
He left the house one evening and walked the coast road toward Weston. Occasionally he would hear a vehicle in the distance and as the sound grew closer he would stand at the roadside, raking his hair, straightening his coat, waiting its appearance. And as it drew near, he'd snap out a thumb and with … Continue reading Funky Town.
