by Andrew Sarewitz New Year’s Eve, 2013. Early, around 9:30 p.m., I sauntered into the bar in Hell’s Kitchen as if I belonged there—which I suppose I felt I did. My brother-in-crime and owner of the bar, Sasha, hugged me hello. With the crowd being far from overflowing, he was concerned the lack of cash-carrying
by Nicholas Johnson When you came and sat on the edge of my bed, lowered and raised your voice, I knew your voice was the best medicine. It conjured up visions of our recent holiday, the houses spread out at random, the jazzy blues of the meadows where the inhabitants always awoke at dawn with
Dear friends, It is a unique task to assume the editorship of a well-established journal. BigCityLit’s diverse community of readers, supporters, contributors, and friends have been so gracious in welcoming us as the new editors, and we are very grateful. We hope to serve you well. BigCityLit—the rivers of it, abridged. While compiling our first