A quirky short story penned by my friend Lola and me, November 1999. Lola and I co-authored a handful of stories on the Internet while we were members of an online writing group. Freshly shaved Robert Allen rose up swinging barbells at those fiercely mad occupants of the Union Gym down at Union Square next to
Week 1 Alone Silence in my bedroom, but not in my bed Naughty aching, electric steam I lie ready, fingers pressing hot Shivers come to me inside the warm darkness My lips form a perfect O O God O Yes O Yes yes yes yes yes The heightened feeling gets stronger The seconds crash like
Remember the drought, dry grasses and winds? Our wildfire moon was red —everything else was black char, ash-fog, so thick we couldn’t breathe There seemed no escape but death Fire blocked our roads Stay-put-and-find-shelter fireman filled our minds with dread Our very souls grew heavy with smoke If we were to die by fire, we
Sunday mirrored light of a hot sun reflecting off of brick buildings and parkways where a hospital sits deep brown and yellow in its last degree, fading like the old woman inside dying with a smile on her face, happy to be leaving. But I with a burlesque smile am sad to watch her go.