by Marc Alan Di Martino My first week in New York I spotted Thurston Moore sauntering out of a bakery on Spring St. Artists had once flocked to SoHo in retreat from rent hikes, but by then you couldn’t live there without a trust fund. He nearly ran me down, or so the memory has
by CL Bledsoe Shaking hands. Shaking body. A red licorice panic twirling up my throat for days each time she calls. Stay busy. Projects. Work, like a weighted blanket. Date anyone, but be nice about it. Movies. Shows. Stand outside friends’ houses until they get home. Don’t make it weird. Bring dinner. Flowers. Be on.
by Lenny DellaRocca Because you’re living on reds, vitamin C & Cocaine Because you do wah ditty ditty dum ditty do Because you love the colorful clothes she wears Because you wear your hair like heaven Because Susanne takes you down to a place by the river Because Alice won’t answer your question Because there’s
by Gerald Wagoner Brooklyn’s skyline is a dank, indistinct brume with snow soon. Another empty rusted warehouse opposite this side of the canal, useful last month, awaits demolition. Low old buildings on both sides of The Gowanus are being leveled. More glass high-rises will go up. Young people, couples with bright eyes will move in.
by Jim Tilley Creeping is an act of stealth, moving slowly and carefully to avoid being heard or noticed, a label improperly assigned to the invasive plants rapidly climbing trunks of trees to erect themselves, smothering those trees’ leaves, blocking sunlight, suppressing photosynthesis, killers by design, somewhat like their cousins growing uncontrollably, spreading to other
by Mohammadreza Fayaz The layover at Heathrow Airport felt interminable. Another lengthy flight to San Francisco awaited, and Ahmad’s back throbbed with discomfort. He strode past an array of quaint, colorful shops, their coffee aromas tantalizing his senses. The faces of the people around him bore a diversity he had never encountered before, marking a
by Maxim Matusevich Perched against a fluffy pile of IKEA pillows Nora watched the camels cross into her field of vision, framed by the glass panel of the balcony door. The room was bathed in an early evening quiet, the pale rays refracted off the ceramic floor tiles and played havoc with the otherwise stately
by Toby Tucker Hecht The admin aide who handed me the empty cardboard box said, “I’m sure you’ll find something soon, Julia. Much better than this job.” And then under her breath, “Sons of bitches!” I had only a few personal items, none with much sentimental meaning, but I tossed them in the box anyway
by Robert Pope Sometime in the year 1970, I received an invitation to interview for a teaching post in Rio Dell, a small Northern California town built on logging on the Eel River in Humboldt County. I had my best pants and shirt, a sports coat and tie laid out in the trunk and planned
in this spare forest windy accents are longing to enter the mouths of the silent actors to make mon: of this than a wooded matinee. With these trees standing at moral attention you can ask questions: Are these really The Wonder Years? Or to vary a theme: Is the world a tenable place to live,