July 2, 2009 Lithe and blonde and a hundred pounds, she sinks her toes into the smooth, silver stones. I watch her. Slipping on her big brown sunglasses, which remind me of fly’s eyes, she sits down next to me … Read More
He’s old, Stieglitz is, when I’m looking at this photograph in my dining room. It’s one hundred and forty-three years since he was born, but he’s still hunched over his desk in his little, crowded gallery like he was when … Read More
At that age we took our fascination in the lot of the adult world. Through the peers we put to turmoil – musky boys of brashness or slighted vigor, and the balmy girls, the sweet or mousy, the striving harlequins – we accessed the quiet amblings of their mothers and their fathers.
Dr. Michaels usually remembered to take off his white coat before he went into Allison’s room, and today was not an exception. He put it on one of the nicer hangers and made sure the name tag on his breast pocket was clearly visible when the closet door was opened.