“The Happy Meal at The Seven Gables” by Bruce Krajewski
Vespers—a chronological designation unfamiliar to a Methodist town like Pacific Grove.
Vespers—a chronological designation unfamiliar to a Methodist town like Pacific Grove.
It’s not there anymore. It was only a short walk from the Chelsea Hotel to Eleventh Avenue. I loved that old saloon . . .
Some artists feel a touch of envy for the crystalline truths of science; what they offer in the way of truth can seem as mushy and dubious as wine-speak. I happen to be an admirer of connoisseurship (though a lot of people scorn it as elitist nowadays), but when I decided to try nonfiction after cutting my teeth on fiction, I wanted to be a little more science-like. For one thing, real world murders—the subject of American Honor Killings—shook up my notions of refinement. They shook ME up, frankly….
With the full moon there’d be a strong tide to pull the shrimp from the warm lagoons to their spawning ground in the Atlantic. It seemed like all of God’s creatures needed love and were willing to risk everything for it . . .
First of all, lemme say that Big Ted’s my man. He always gives me a tight cut, and he’s cool, you know, funny. Got that educated-like slang. (Apparently he did a lot of reading in the joint . . .)
Introduction As we opened our eyes on the morning of September 11, 2001, few of us realized how many goodbyes that day would bring: to people we loved and places we knew, to our plans for the future and our sense of control over our lives, to the trust we had in our safety and […]
I have two daughters, both over the age of five. I never expected to raise boys . . .
It’s the last day of Family Health Week at my son’s elementary school.