No One Makes Money at Landlocked Bars on Holiday Weekends

If I only knew the time, he thought, I would know it all. Standing behind the bar on a slow holiday weekend he would wax philosophical. Something outside would catch his eye and the thought would skip away. Like how the awning of the place retracted with one of those poles you slipped through a … More No One Makes Money at Landlocked Bars on Holiday Weekends

Pillow Talk

You cannot escape truth when talking across a pillow. Delirious comfort leaves no space for fear. If there was a banking system for time, for moments, for getting back what we’ve lost, I would invest all these empty hours I bleed out introspectively on a page for a few voiceless words whispered across the pillow from … More Pillow Talk

Road Verse

When the second chance is really the fourth or fifth And you aren’t ashamed, but you won’t admit Lessons are learned as you go, They don’t wait at the end of the road. When you’ve lost the faith you thought was heaven-sent Don’t make it all about trying to reinvent The soul you traded in … More Road Verse

On Hearing Notes Composed in Mourning

I attended a concert of classical music this evening. The final piece, “Ode to Lord Buckley,” composed by David Amram, was written after the death of the titular entertainer. Amram knew him well. What follows is a scant account of the performance’s sublimity, composed by myself. The saxophonist scoops notes penned in memoriam and hurls … More On Hearing Notes Composed in Mourning

Bagel Bar

After that first night not sleeping, they went for breakfast sandwiches at the cramped bagel joint overlooking Main Street. The two of them ordered at the counter, but Clyde waited for the tray of food to be prepared. He took the tray and approached the empty stool next to her hoisted bottom and dangling legs. … More Bagel Bar