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Two Flash Pieces: Philately; To the Young Couple Parking the Peugeot, Brussels

 Was it fate that an hour ago I saw you squeeze your Peugeot into a tight parking space on the narrow cobblestone street? You, dear young woman, dressed in a slinky green metallic dress with slinky gold sandals, holding a bouquet of flowers. You, dear young man, dressed for a summer evening out on the town in crisp slacks and button-down shirt, carrying a bottle of wine. It’s likely you were headed for a friend’s flat when I asked you, “Do you speak English?” You said you did, but you really didn’t.

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The Lecturer and the Faculty Lounge

My brother and I never really understood why he, who never entered the lounge during the academic school year, and rarely spoke with other faculty outside of the routine exchanges related to his job, took this pre-semester period to visit the lounge, and engage in idle chatter with its small group of self-anointed members composed of senior faculty who perceived access to the lounge as a perk for their many years of employment;

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How I Write

First thing, I wake up. At 76 not being dead is essential. After breakfast I read poetry, novels, essays, everything. They’re all a part of my writing process.

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Crash Course

Seconds tick by. Downtown LA this time of morning is almost but not quite still. Beginning to wake up. I’m aware of my breath, the rustles, mumbling, cursing going on down the sidewalk. The stink of things I can’t identify. “You ever come to get soup?”