An image of you, crying. An image of a man. An image that reminds you of high school, when Tommy H taught you what it was like to be beaten and your father taught you what it was to be a man. When both the actions were the same.… more
An image of you, crying. An image of a man. An image that reminds you of high school, when Tommy H taught you what it was like to be beaten and your father taught you what it was to be a man. When both the actions were the same.… more
My wife cut off all her hair and I think it was because of something I said last night.… more
It was the one thing Stanly knew he wanted for himself— that his own life could be bigger. But in Vietnam, it got so big, it swallowed him and he couldn’t find his way out. He looked down at his bag of tools and flexed his fingers. They trembled and rattled like the subway car.… more
Custodians are solidly working class, with economically valuable skills. It’s only the truly upper class that views custodians as poor, for the former have no knowledge of what poverty looks like up close. Poverty smells so much worse than custodian’s ammonia.… more
The cop placed the dead body in the holding cell and read the dead body its rights. When the commissioner arrived at noon, hungover and short-tempered, an under the weather veteran, he saw the dead body and nodded.… more
Afterward, all his friends got tattoos but Harry didn’t get a tattoo because his parents convinced him it was unnecessary. They were right. You didn’t need a tattoo to remember somebody. But it helped to have something. As the beep at the end of the voicemail sounded, Harry hung up and played that something again.… more
He held up a strip of film by the edges. A woman’s face frozen in a scream, the bleach-like starkness of the frame magnifying the terror. It was still a mystery to Henry, how they went from watching shadows on cave walls to 35-mm machines whirring and clicking in strip malls.… more
They called them spider holes but they should’ve called them early graves. The scorpions, the rats… he imagined them clawing at his skin, tearing him apart as the Viet Cong approached like their own kind of insect, burrowing endlessly through the network of tunnels beneath Vietnam.… more
The day before Christmas I was shitshape on the Ezekiel Docks, down by the Nutria Nugget Riverboat. My ex-babydoll, Ms. Wanda, was onboard. I was not.… more
Maybe everyone had their own kind of moon in them. Full ones and halves. Slivers and curves.… more