I told the army that my father was abusing my mother and that I had to stay home to protect her. This girl whose job it was to check out these kinds of things arrived at our apartment. It was … Read More
When I was fifteen, when my hair was growing down past my collar and my face was fixed into a jaded smirk, Mom and Dad decided it was time to get out. Out of the city; out of sinful, glorious … Read More
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
There was a bit of marinara sauce spilled out on the counter in a cluster of islands. Four blotches of red, decreasing in size and arcing away from the stovetop like Hawaii. The sauce was cold and was slowly drying … Read More
Having finally made his decision after weeks of deliberation, including long sessions of pacing, breaking into sprawling, silent walks from his apartment to the piers to the bridge to the square and then back, all the while considering implications and … Read More
Avatar has received so much hype that it is difficult to get close to anyone who is now basking in its success. Difficult, however, does not mean impossible. Join us as the Nassau Weekly sits down with Sebastian from The … Read More
When I catch sight of my stitches in periphery, I think they are hairs growing out of my wrist, like black wiry hairs growing out of a mole or on the jaw lines of women. Then I think of Marie, … Read More
The grass is trimmed like my father obsesses over. It’s green as Heineken bottles, as my mother’s eyes when shining with tears, and the white lines that frame it up and down stand out like Claire’s porcelain skin at Ricky’s son’s baptism.
I think I might love you. Sorry. I didn’t think so until last week. It was Friday. I was driving up I-87. I hadn’t thought of you all day, all week. The trees lining the highway had lost their leaves … 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