That first apartment in Allentown was the best. Early twentieth century, high ceilings, good woodwork. I lived on the middle of three floors below the owners, an elderly couple who ran a jewelry repair shop downstairs. An old Czech named… Read More ›
There’s no point in hurrying to get up now. The thought of an all-cold shower is impossible. But sitting by the picture window in the den at 0500h. the moonlight is splendid, sickle shaped and perched between an isosceles triangle… Read More ›
Both girls overdo it with the perfume; they lack subtlety. The landing just outside our bedroom is now a miasma of sweet, with Charlotte’s BF Rosie living here. When Dawn’s gone I stretch out like a starfish in bed but… Read More ›
The dog would just stay upstairs and sulk when Dawn was away, only coming down to feed. It’s like she took it personally. All the aluminum foil balls we used to keep the cat distracted were clustered under the sofa…. Read More ›
Walked to the lake in the dark for the first time in a while, sick of being cooped up. Forgot how it looks when there’s fog in the street lamps, a cone of milky light with bugs flapping about. Frogs… Read More ›
Rummage around long enough in the grab-bag of memories and you’ll find something strange. This one, a party in college where everyone was in costumes and on LSD: a guy named Don with a sheet of acid dressed like Captain… Read More ›
For all my romanticizing the coming of fall it’s heartbreaking to think summer’s nearly over. You forget how much the next six months are ass. The sound of kids playing in someone’s yard well past sunset tonight seemed an apt… Read More ›
Getting off to cough syrup seems like a lower order high but now that l’ve resigned all vices but caffeine I’m not above it. Weird dreams? No problem. The melatonin did that for a while but got too weird for… Read More ›
The cougar was more than a cougar, it was a metaphor. A fear of the unknown or being tracked by something immutable, time itself. If it were a Castaneda novel the cougar would be a witch, supernatural. I’d have to… Read More ›
It could have been the sound of the church bells on my early morning walk, going through the last few years of late August memories. Parsing through the past was like looking across a vista, trying to make out what… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 