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Category Archives: Fiction
I. When Jennifer bent to her left to catch the falling leaf, her wool navy plaid skirt touched the ground, black Madden flats sliding on the wet sidewalk blanketed with autumn’s glory. The first freeze of the season had yet … Continue reading
What I remember about when I was a kid in the south Bronx is that my pop was too poor to rent us a bungalow at Rockaway during the hot summers, so we just stayed home. We had the kind … Continue reading
Wynn hooked a mostly clean fingernail under the chrome tab of the tape measure. The internal spring tack-tack-tacked as yellow inches emerged. Six, eight, ten, twelve. He stopped, had an idea, but let it go. The metal strip zipped back … Continue reading
By the time I had lived at Hamilton House for five years, every wall of the salon in my sixth-floor apartment was covered with drawings and paintings of my own naked body. The larger ones were framed, and in the … Continue reading
It was the season when crimson pooled on the sidewalks and in the parks. It was the season when gold adorned every yard in the neighborhood. This was the season when the last of the year’s flickering fireflies danced through … Continue reading
“You should write a story about me,” he says, and smiles, standing in the doorway. He is porcine, she notes with detachment. She glimpses a roll of plump skin sprouting beneath the woolen argyle sweater. The way he stands, seductively … Continue reading