Mr Finkel’s Malteser birthday cake, aged 5 hours, passed away between 6 and 6:25pm on 23rd April 2024. Weighing up the facts like baking ingredients, Mrs Finkel decided that her husband absolutely did not deserve a birthday cake, much less the effort she had put into creating it.… Continue Reading
The first time Mary Pat overheard Freebird mention how he lost his leg, he sat on the far side of the front porch with Miss Mildred who’d been widowed early in her marriage to a WWII marine. They watched squirrels gather twigs to build their nests in the poplar tree across from Silver Oaks Retirement Community’s parking lot.… Continue Reading
“Wanna see something?”Jerry, the property manager held open a large garbage bag. Like an idiot, I peeked inside. A whiff of decay and rot hit me in the face as my peepers took in several black and gray fuzzballs. I had a strong urge to both punch and puke on Jerry.… Continue Reading
Smash the front door in with the pickup, says Dad. I considers it: a cement step, the sunken garden next to it, the brick around the frame, the new pickup. How about a locksmith? I built it sixty years ago, he says. It’s pretty strong. But you’re driving, he concedes.… Continue Reading
My American girlfriend holds my hand loudly, like she’s giving fuck you, cishets because she thinks we’re way behind in Australia.… Continue Reading
You think you’re better than me? A guy in a bear costume with a ranger hat and hollow eyes. You think because you live in New Jersey you won’t be affected by micro-particles floating south from fires in Canada?… Continue Reading
What had followed was a cycle, an expulsion of amassed pain. It could not be dispelled nor evaporated, it had to be unleashed the way clouds poured the rains they harbored, rather than condensed into the buried recesses of wells. Despite her sins, she has suffered plenty.… Continue Reading
Johnny asked if my father had fought in the war. I told him my uncle had died in it, so my father didn’t have to fight. He asked if my father was yellow. “No,” I said. “My father can kill your father,” he said. “He killed lots of people in the war,” he added. “Said it was nothing.” I became concerned Johnny and his father were planning to kill my father.… Continue Reading
Why do men—most of us, at least—grin through our cracked teeth and dance on our broken ankles, but then crumble, just crumble, when our noses begin to drip? Why aren’t we more embarrassed to be seen being sick, chronically ill, unsensationally uncomfortable? Why aren’t we less embarrassed to be in serious pain?… Continue Reading
The first time I ever saw boobs was on the streets of Galveston during Mardi Gras. Puddle of Mudd was playing on the Strand and my parents thought twelve was old enough to brave that chaos to see them.… Continue Reading