“Did they use the term “Re-tooling?” Saidi Hawkins asked, twisting his mouth into a sardonic smirk. Read the rest of this entry »

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Neutrality continued to take care of itself the next morning. I walked up to the bakery ten minutes before our 9:00 A.M. meeting time, and Len and Ronaldo were already there. They were both looking the wrong way when I approached, peering out the window in the vague direction of the Staten Island ferry. Hadn’t I said that I was staying in Brooklyn? Read the rest of this entry »

The crowd had surged to the yellow tape line, but could still feel the heat of the blaze and smell things they’d rather not think too hard about.  Two homeless men, escorted by police from inside the disaster zone, joined the cordoned crowd. Read the rest of this entry »

I was only four the first time it happened.  I remember that now.  They’d taught me to read and then they forced me to read.  That was how I met him. Read the rest of this entry »

“Perch again?” And on the hubcap we reserve for company, Aloysius Caine thought but did not say aloud, as he suspected that prolonged isolation had severely eroded Lucinda Metz’s sense of humor.
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It was a spring day of sun after rain clouds brought gushes of water that now were pushing stem growth up and out in a riot of life. Elmer Droutfort looked out from his front porch at the old over story of oaks, poplars, hickories and ashes that were leafed out for another season, joining the pines and hemlocks as green summits to his domain. Underneath and lower, redbuds, dogwood, paw paw and mountain laurel, that was nearly ready to proclaim a flowery flourish, carpeted the under story. The old pasture field looked like it was ready for the first cutting. He’d seen these sights in his sixty-seven years and he never grew disinterested or too bothered to notice. If only if he could look at it all without his mind’s eye seeing through to the beyond. His family had been on this land long enough to bury dozens in a fenced rectangle up on top of the eighty acres. Up there he used to talk with his mother and grandfather, and look out at Paint Mountain, Cherry Pond Mountain and Coal River Mountain and feel God’s hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t go up there much anymore. God’s still there, and so are his relatives, but the view is gone. Read the rest of this entry »

The Steamer Casino was never meant to move, something the original owner and architects knew too well. Sometime after the 1976 christening this information was lost to the upper management, perhaps the natural consequence of the facility changing hands four times through the nineties, and often through hostile takeovers and worse divorce settlements.
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Yo Wax,

                I’m hoping that by the time you read this, I’ll have accomplished something.  I’m sorry for keeping you out of the loop like this.  I think it’s safest for everyone if you keep yourself away from all this, from this twisted, sick story our lives have become. Read the rest of this entry »

Nickels ran until his ears hurt and his breath came in ragged, aching gulps.  Bent over, hands on his knees, he hid behind a tall row of arbor vitae and prayed to catch his breath before the sound of him heaving or the mist rising in bursts from his dry mouth would give away his position.  The ringing in his ears drowned out any possible sound of someone following, and he kept himself pivoting to compensate, looking in every available direction.  Slowly, he worked his way backwards to a privy fence perpendicular to the shrubs, and sank to a seated position in the corner. Read the rest of this entry »

Architects had wistfully dubbed the uncovered rooftop parking floor the “Skylot,” but there wasn’t much sky visible from the perspective of Joseph F. Kett. He was lying on his back on the hood of his Saturn - a discontinued series, for which it was increasingly difficult to acquire parts, but still, in his opinion, the smartest line ever made - staring straight up into the darkening blue hard enough to make his eyes hurt.
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