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Taking a shot

Sunday morning and my eyes open before the sun. Today is my day off, but yet, my body is in routine—so I’m awake. Outside, the wind howls and the clouds look like they will be thick when daylight comes. This would be a perfect morning to sleep in—but again, my body is used to a routine, so I am awake as if today was just another day on the time-clock.

It’s amazing how our body fits into a routine. I am rarely late, but I have a terrible fear of becoming so. I suppose this fear came from past experiences. I suppose this came from my time on The Farm.
Being late meant you didn’t eat. Being late on The Farm meant someone was going to yell very loudly and yell for a very long time. It meant a day of humiliation. I suppose this created an inner-body fear that my subconscious refuses to let go of, which is good, because I am rarely, if ever late.

I watched an interview of an amateur cage fighter with Continue reading →

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Note to The Old Man

If I were able to speak to you, I am not sure if I would know what to say or where to begin. I am not sure I would recognize your voice or if you would recognize mine because it’s been that long.
I write mostly. I don’t speak out loud as often as I used to. I suppose I don’t speak because the words never seem to leave my mouth in the right way. But on paper, I feel more comfortable. On paper, I feel I’m able to express myself easier.

I was so young when you left. I was young and Continue reading →

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Thought From Someone Sober

My choice to remain as I am, or sober, comes with the occasional reminders as if to say, “Just so you know, it’s still the same out there.”
I rarely look at myself and think of me as sober. After nearly 25 years, this has become a part of who I am. Sobriety is part of my behavior. However, the understanding of why I stay sober remains, and should I choose to slip backwards—there would be a certain failure, and it is that certainty that keeps me as I am — sober.

The other day, I walked through the isles in one of the nearby drugstores. I stopped at the end section to notice a new product. It was non-alcoholic wine. It was white wine to be exact. I have never seen this before. I have seen non-alcoholic beer, but not wine.

In all honesty, my experiences with wine never Continue reading →

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a short: based on a true story

There is one thing I know and I have almost always been sure of; there is no honor amongst thieves . . .

Richie was an average sized teenager with basic looks. He lived in an average suburban town, approximately 45 minutes east of New York City. His mother and father came from average incomes. They earned average, lived average, and to their son Richie, average was uninteresting at best.

Richie lived in a modest home. His father, Richard Sr., rarely gave Richie money without asking Richie to work for it. He was rarely home and usually working long hours and weekends. However, Richie did not understand this. He never Continue reading →

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About A Walk In The Suburbs

I left my house around noon. I had no plans or intentions of meeting up with anyone. I had no plans of going anywhere—at least, not anywhere important. I did not feel the need to meet up with anyone else. I just wanted to be outside.
I had no destination in mind or expectation of anything special.
I walked along Glenn Curtis Boulevard, passed the empty field beside the baseball fields, and passed the parking lots to the glass office buildings, which, other than the hospital, the three glass office buildings were the only tall buildings in my hometown of East Meadow

I walked through Continue reading →

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The Boz Incident

I have worked as a building engineer and in the building trades for more than 16 years. Throughout my time, from the beginning until now; it is clear to me that there are different types of people in his world, each with their own background, and each with their own stories.
Like most, I began my journey as an apprentice, or “Helper,” as they call it. I started in my late 20’s and since I was younger than everyone else in the crew, I was called, “The kid.”

I was never called by my name—just, “Kid.”
“Hey kid, bring me that pipe wrench.”
“Hey kid, get this,” and “Hey kid, get that.”
And, “Come on, kid. Move your ass!”

In my early days as an apprentice, I swept and Continue reading →

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Love Prose: from sessions in the balcony

The best part is the wild part.
This is when you dance on the edge of being caught, or you do something forbidden because it feels good. This is the part that makes your hearts thump when you see each other.
It is the reason why she followed you into the back room where no one else goes, but the possibility of someone rushing in and opening the door at any minute stirs you both into the excess of each other’s flesh.

This is why your kiss rolls her eyes into the back of her head and her body falls limp into your arms. This is why she submits to you, and this why you cannot think of anything else but Continue reading →

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The first snowstorm of 2015

The snowfall began early this morning, but the real storm has yet to begin. As I write to you, the hour of daylight has passed, the street is empty, and everything is covered with snow.
The lights from windows inside the neighboring homes all shine in a way that only comes during wintery moments. They shine through window curtains with a soft, yellowish glow, which describes an inside warmth to oppose the outside temperature.
The streetlamps stand in place and light the street with a halo around the head of its glowing body. The snow is falling heavy and coming down in an angle, but overall, the worst is yet to come.

The weatherman says to prepare for Continue reading →

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Music from The Record Store

The songs I love most are songs that were written long ago. They have history to me. They connect me to different periods of my life and give depth to the times which I keep in the archives of my memory.
I remember a winter day from my youth. It was cold and rainy. I decided to take a walk to the record store because there was nothing else to do. There was no one else around—and even if there were—no one was interested in walking in the rain.

I was young and my hair was somewhere between boyish and bowl-cut to becoming decidedly long. This was not an easy thing for my parents. They did not like long hair. Most of all, they did not like long hair on me. They did not like the way long hair looked. They said the did not like what it represented . . . but I did.
I was Continue reading →

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Billy’s Picture: You Would Never Know By Looking At Him

Out of respect for anonymity, names and situations have been slightly changed to protect the not-so-innocent . . .

Billy was a tall, soft-spoken man with a curly bowl of salt and peppered hair. He wore a mustache, which was grayer than the hair on his head. He wore a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and he always dressed casual. He was gentle and bear-like. I never saw him lose his temper and I never heard him speak aggressively about anyone. Billy was content to be exactly who he was—a kind, middle-aged photographer who lived on 28th Street in Manhattan’s Flower District.

No one would ever know by looking at him. No one would ever think he was once a drunk and no one would ever know about the twenty years he drank or why he chose to live that way.

Billy invited me over to his studio after Continue reading →