Late Night Prose:

Finally, I have a chance to breathe.

Late night and New York City streetlights stand tall over an otherwise empty corner near Lexington and 43rd.
(I’m sure you know the place)
The summertime in the city is different to me somehow and as I stand, staring up at the Chrysler across from Grand Central Station, I lower my view to watch a herd of out-of-towners, dressed in their city best, and Continue reading

From Junkie Stories: Lying Flat

I spent most of the day and all of my money on little plastic capsules that contained tiny white flakes and a terrible addiction. The sun had gone down and the roads were wet from a cold winter’s rain. The streetlamps and occasional headlights from passing cars glistened against the black pavement on the street. And when the wind came, the traffic lights swayed with the colors of red, yellow, or green and reflected against the slick pavement near Green Avenue and Front Street.

Front Street is somewhat of a Continue reading

A Collage of thoughts


Tell me something—

Tell me anything; tell me anything at all.
Tell me about the lights and the way they flicker against your skin beneath the awnings on St. Mark’s back before the hipsters took hold of Bowery and the downtown scene was still bold and alive.

Tell me about the warm sensation of sin as trickles from your secrets and falls into a cup of untold stories that no Continue reading

Where I Place Honor

I’m not sure where it all began. I can’t pinpoint the initial change or where my feelings shifted as a kid. Maybe it was an early realization I had. Only, I never had the language to describe it. I only know I that always felt differently from the rest. I was much smaller than most my age. I was babyish in appearance, thin, and terribly weak for my age. I never had much athletic ability and I couldn’t fight my way out of a wet paper bag.

I never felt like I fit in or I belonged — but I always wanted to.
I always Continue reading

Working Man’s Prose

I started a journey back in September of 1999. After close to a decade of me wearing a suit and tie and trying to get by on my sales pitch in the New York City Garment Center, I stepped away from the fashion industry and exchanged my daily get up from a white collar to a blue one. I was tired of sales. I was tired of the dances I’d have to do and tired of the industry. I was tired of not having enough sales to cover my draw, not having enough money, not having the right place to live, the right car, the right girl, and the right anything. After years of halfhearted sales calls and paperwork, which I hated, I was given an Continue reading