The first time I bought weed in Los Angeles, I listened to—and talked about—vintage synthesizers for hours. I was high . . .
Tag: short fiction
“I’m night-weaning Emeka,” my wife Anna alerted me when I met her in the park after a run . . .
Kelleher ran towards Nathan’s, Coney Island’s legendary wiener wonderland. The Ukrainian’s final fetid breath was still stinging his nostrils . . .
“Yeah, yeah, yeah! Ummm, this will work . . . I’m sure I can quit this time,” muttered Steve under his quickening breath while rapidly striking his index finger against the table before him.
“Here come the temple spasms, Steve . . .”
In 1965 we were just short of driving age. Our mode of locomotion was hitchhiking . . .
“Hardest thing you’ll ever do in your life. Mental equivalent of hog-tying the meanest steer this side of Odessa . . .”
Dusk was falling on a high summer day in Galway City, a place that claimed me but never loved me . . .
Flies pepper the window of my Fort Benning barracks room. I stun them with pine-scented Glade. With each spray they drop—well, like flies . . .