I woke up and you were gone. I rolled a joint and I stepped outside and lit it, saw the smoke linger in the sunlight, felt the THC enter my lungs and my bloodstream, realized it was the earliest I’ve …{read more}
Dancing the Blues
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Friday night is blues dancing in the South of Market district of San Francisco. A small studio space filled with about thirty people freely moving to the music in a way that can only be described as a one night …{read more}
Everything All at Once: A Short Story
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I left my poetry somewhere…dropped it…didn’t even know it was missing until recently. I found it tucked inside an old book given to me when I was younger from a poet with sparkling eyes. Given to me at a time …{read more}
Hollywood Rooftops
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The ghosts of that 1920s apartment were in the air when we sat on its rooftop drinking wine, one summer’s eve at dusk. We could almost see old Betty’s skinny frame still making her way up Las Palmas Avenue, taking …{read more}
Everything Must Go
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Larry was a rare one. Very nice and helpful – he would expertly fix the leaky faucets when my landlord didn’t get around to it. Unfortunately when it came to most everything else, Larry was like the many nomads who …{read more}
Christina’s Portrait
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My pal Silvi used to spend all her time cooped up in a rather distinguished arts studio in mid-town Manhattan sketching and drawing and painting and molding and shaping and all that other stuff that artists tend to do — …{read more}
The Home Helper
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The knackers were done with it, everything removable, the iron stoves standing like Celtic monuments in the adjacent lot, the cheap roof slates brought from Bangor in Wales when there was employment there. The cheap zinc flashing piled in crumpled …{read more}
Lottie – by Kenneth Tindall
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Lottie lived in a little house close to the summit of one of the Hollywood Hills. Once every two weeks we would take a Pacific Electric bus which ran out the Hollywood Freeway, and then the arduous walk up to …{read more}