short story

Entertainment, Tonight

The couple next to me are being effortlessly annoying. She indulges the conceit of being the only beautiful girl in the world, and he’s preying on her idiocy. At some point she gets up for the bathroom, he glances over at me and smiles. He takes out a cigarette, “Do you have a light?”

Fox, Owl & Co.

Suspiciously he edges for the flask and sniffs it for truth— “You’re a wretched smartass, Parker. A smartass—“ “I’m not Parker.” “Then who in God’s Name?” “Your Personal Assistant—“ “Godsblood! —What’s you’re goddamn name?” The decision to proceed on a no-name basis is a flogged issue.


I. the perfume shop Before I discovered the little East Village Fragrance Shop, I had opted for the clean citrus-y notes of Dior’s Fahrenheit for Men. It suited me and few women wore it, at least none that I knew of. The store was owned by Lalita who was Thai —and kept the staff that way. It was a small bountiful boutique crammed with creams, soaps, and spa treatments: candles, face masks, ...


We all watched it on TV— the Giant as he emerged from the debris of the earth; disrupting the strata of Greco-Roman remains which had lain undisturbed for centuries. We were gathered in my Uncle Felix’s mountainside home overlooking Tarqua Bay. It was the usual family type gathering we had on Sunday afternoons after church. Uncle Felix (actually he’s my mothers uncle) is the head ...