Death is Sleeping in my Bed Next to me

Death's here again, oversleeping in my bed. I can't catch a break; I wanted one Saturday morning alone. "Move over,"I say, "Your feet are so cold." "My feet? How about yours?" Death accuses. "Poor circulation," I answer and roll over on my stomach. "What's your excuse?" Death laughs and continues to hog the covers. "What… Continue reading Death is Sleeping in my Bed Next to me

The Collective Stink

The two young men stood in the middle of the subway, that spot reserved for the rush-hour swell or else the stage for optimistic break dancers determined to rouse the unengaged masses. The train rambled between Broadway-Lafayette and Grand, from one underground sweat box to the next. The men, listless on a Friday¬†afternoon in the… Continue reading The Collective Stink