December 2011
6 posts
2 tags
Breakfast
This morning at breakfast a man crosseyed in a Yankees camp spoke of cinema from the kitchen.
That movie I saw, he said. Don’t go see it.
What did you see? someone said.
I saw that detective movie. The one with the Iron Man. Don’t go see it. Don’t even go.
No good?
The crosseyed man shook his head. Teardrops tattooed at the corner of his eye.
Someone asked if he’d seen...
2 tags
3 tags
Beer spoke of his father. How it had been in older days when Arizona was still dust and empty tracts and roads scraped through the ruins of Anasazi pueblos. All was construction. Resorts and ranches grew up out of the desert ahead of the city. Indians delivered water in dromedary sacks on carts muledrawn to feed fields of cotton. Prospectors raked the red cliffs and foothills for copper. The soil...
3 tags
6/17/2009. Notes on the future. Brooklyn. New...
3 tags
Near the entrance a legless convict circled the bargain bins in a wheelchair, his mother following behind, a woman, skeletal, sipping a synthetic orange soft drink. The convict hovered over a crate of bargain mayonnaise. He hefted a tub onto his chair, calling out for an employee to acknowledge him. He lifted the tub over his head and called out, a pair of eyes tattooed on the back of his neck,...
3 tags
10/1/09. Taxi cab. Brooklyn. New York.