“Before we start—I’m sorry, toots—what’s your name again?” “Beekeeper.” “Okay, Mavis. I just want to tell you that I’m not gonna talk about my marriage. Y’know. To you-know-who…” “Banana?” “Because I’m not here to provide material for the gossip rags. It’s nobody’s goddamn business. Hedda Hopper can go pound sand up her ass—pardon my French.”Continue reading “Hollywood”
Category Archives: Uncategorized
Mike & Pete & Tanya
This is only what was told to me. When Mike Sturm learned that Petey Magritte had passed away, he told his wife, Diane, “The ranks are thinning,” and she nodded and went back to her scandal magazine. Mike had known Petey Magritte since they attended second grade together in 1975. Mrs. Gallini’s class. In theContinue reading “Mike & Pete & Tanya”
Pull Me Apart and Analyze the Pieces
Shelly pinched a nit between her index finger and thumb and then carefully slid it down her long strands of hair until it released at the end. She held it in a firm pinch-grip and transferred it to the stark white void of the bedsheet. It was like a little operating theater. She wished forContinue reading “Pull Me Apart and Analyze the Pieces”
A Bruised Ego
Ted Hanscomb hadn’t been feeling so great lately. Loneliness and the weight of age were pressing down on him like a device in a dungeon. When he awoke in the afternoon (he worked third shift) the encroaching day felt drastic in some vague way. Like a last chance at something. His repetitive daily schedule wasContinue reading “A Bruised Ego”
Mortified
We’re sitting on the porch again, drinking spiced rum and Red Bull. Her dirty bare feet rest on an ottoman of three stacked tires. She waves a fly away from her face and says, “I’ve been evaluating myself.” “Oh yeah?” I say after a sip of my rapidly warming drink. We’re drinking out of StyrofoamContinue reading “Mortified”
Under the Poncho
I wrote a story and it’s smaller than a breadbox. It’s currently nesting at the cozy website below: A Thin Slice of Anxiety
The Fictitious Kid
She had a fictitious kid. We were sitting on her porch, drinking Ballantine Ale out of a grubby Styrofoam cooler with missing pieces. A slow moat surrounded the leaking cooler, expanding with the gradual melt. In front of us was a narrow strip of dirt and crabgrass scattered with worn out toys. Her fictitious kidContinue reading “The Fictitious Kid”
96th of October
I’m pleased to reveal that a new story of mine has just been published and if you want to spend a few minutes moving your eyes across my words, you can do it here: 96th of October
Unidentified Flying Object
We’re sitting on her porch, the trusty Styrofoam cooler between us. There’s a broken hole in the lid now. It was an accident. I’m drinking 32-ounce cans of Colt 45 malt liquor. I love the buzz but it always gives me a headache-heavy hangover. I believe it’s worth it. She’s drinking peach wine coolers forContinue reading “Unidentified Flying Object”
The Smell of Flies
We sat. The Styrofoam cooler was there with Pabst Blue Ribbon tallboys. It was like drinking canned tap water. I stretched my legs and a fly buzzed between us. “Ugh, a fly,” she said, waving it away. “I hate the smell of flies.” “The smell of flies?” “Yeah.” “Flies don’t smell.” “Hell if they don’t.Continue reading “The Smell of Flies”
Crumbling Asphalt 