Our garden grows ripe and strong, even if the soil is bare,
around the head of Mrs. Long, that Daddy had left lying there. [Read more…] about Talking Your Way into Dodge
poverty
Eagles’ Wings and Unicorns
When my sister and I would go the Carnival Circus, we couldn’t tell our Dad, of course. “No jobs,” is what my Uncle Kevin used to say, whenever you’d ask him why we only had a few restaurants in town, and why we had to drive to Olderville to get groceries since the Piggly Wiggly shut down, and why the amusement park that would open just before Lent and close down in time for the Fall semester was lost to rust and vandalism and a sea of litter and weeds. The place was restricted – you couldn’t just waltz in, or you’d get the deputy called on you and get your name in the local paper, which was a big deal in a town of only 2900 people (they stopped lowering the number on the sign so people wouldn’t get depressed, after Molly Ames had jumped off Croger Creek Bridge early one morning). [Read more…] about Eagles’ Wings and Unicorns
Paying for Your Soul Up Front
The Painter’s eyes weren’t ordinary eyes, nor was he an ordinary sketch artist, bargaining for a twenty dollar bill on Times Square. He had a little booth next to a bodega on 3rd, and he didn’t work in chalk or pencil, but in fast-drying egg tempera, with particularly dark yet vivid hues. The Painter wasn’t known to anyone by name, as far as anyone knew. He was simply “the Painter” and, if you sat for him, he looked at you the way you look at a bug in a jar. Your surface persona – that was the jar. [Read more…] about Paying for Your Soul Up Front
Forgotten Wash
A laundromat isn’t supposed to be scary. Sure, you might feel awkward being there alone late at night, if you’re a young woman and it’s in a bad neighborhood. But in general, laundry is a happy thing. It’s suds and bubbles, and clean scents, and warm socks, and washing away all the built up grime that soils your life in layers. You think about things like this, if you’re Maggie. Maggie thinks about what things mean, as much as what they are. [Read more…] about Forgotten Wash
The White Lies of Ivan the 24-Handed
A man had twenty four hands, and each of his hands held a secret or an answer. He lived in Russia in 1913, under the reign of the last Tsar. There were many such itinerant people then, and many made their living from fortune telling or as oracles of astrological research. Let’s call him Ivan, since it’s the most common man’s name in Russia. It’s like John in the US, and it’s pronounced “ee-VON” not “EYE-vun”. That’s important. [Read more…] about The White Lies of Ivan the 24-Handed
F*ck Your Day Job
Darryl held the cup of coffee over the edge of the fire escape, eying the two taxis below. Whichever one started to move first, that’s whose barista he would become.
Jill was late for work, and the whole call taxi thing was new to her. In New York, you didn’t really call unless you were out in the burbs. Maybe you summoned a cab with a cell phone app – you could do that. But she never heard of anyone calling from lower Manhattan. Chicago would be an adjustment – you could flag a taxi in Chicago, but not this far off the brown line. Damn, there was the horn, and her hair dryer wasn’t working. How are you supposed to operate like that, when everyone in the law office has a suit worth more than your last vacation? Especially if you ever wanted to clerk your way up the ladder without sleeping with it. [Read more…] about F*ck Your Day Job