This morning, by the river.
Photo of Melville’s Writing Table at Arrowhead And in Miniature Utopia may be a mere idea, but who would argue against the actual existence of dystopia? I don’t believe for a minute that any previous era was “easier” than this one, but when one’s life-support-system, i.e., technology, fails, dystopia degrades into living hell, and I Read More
~ In Tribeca, man to friend, sardonically: “If he pays for the drinks, I’ll laugh at his jokes.” ~ In Chelsea, in front of a Japanese culinary store, German tourists, girl to her boyfriend, drily: “I don’t think they’ll let us take knives on board.” ~ On Prince St., woman on cell, perturbed and intense: Read More
He sat in his dingy, crowded little kitchen, with a thwarted philodendron leaning close, and added a dab of jam to a bowl of yogurt. He thought of the woman in the coffee shop he’d seen the day before, sitting two stools from his. Merely because she was so beautiful, he was interested to learn Read More
I was delayed again at the hospital. The tests had become increasingly long, complex, and uncomfortable. The journey from the Medical Center to the frame house in North Jersey where I still lived with my parents (though I was 35) was two hours by bus. But my parents would wait to have dinner with me; Read More
Two-twelve p.m., 1-2-12, Hudson River.
Twas the day after Christmas and all through the streets, not a creature was stirring, except for the rats. The gift wrap is blowing in glittery sheets, and at heights in the clouds, like torn-paper kites.
One of Macy’s Amazing Christmas Windows When: 11/14/11 Where: outdoor café, Tribeca. Who: man to friend. Attitude: Smuggish. Quote: “Well, we survived.” ~ When: 11/8/11. Where: Westbeth Flea Market. Who: Volunteer. Attitude: Also smuggish. Quote: “I knew Howard Johnson. He was a nice man.” ~ When: 11/18/11. Where: Fulton St., Seaport. Who: Tourist to wife Read More