“Charlie Suskind is a prideful man who hates losing,” George said. “He’s only lost this tournament once. He fired one of the guys who beat him and made life a living hell for the other until he quit. Our jobs are on the line. Got it?”
The 1964-65 New York World’s Fair
Every September, my husband Dan watches the US Open. Broadcast live from Flushing Meadows, Queens, where I have roots, it takes place on the former grounds of the 1964-65 New York World's Fair. I've never latched onto tennis, but I'll often watch for a few minutes, waiting for the inevitable shot of the Unisphere so I can make my annual comment, “I saw that with my family at the World's Fair.”
Seventy – Five Notebooks
“Dad, what are you doing?”
He ignored her and continued writing. His right hand moved in a flurry, a stubby yellow pencil gripped tightly in his fingers. He mumbled something to himself, paused for a moment, then scribbled again. He appeared to be transcribing the contents of one notebook into another. Both notebooks were filled with his own handwriting.
Love in Indianapolis
I keep walking, hands buried deep, collar turned up, and then I see them— a man and woman huddled at the bus stop, stealing kisses between clouds of breath, laughing like the world isn’t breaking a little more every day...
What The Mouth Tells; Tilt; Exiled; Sphenoid Jam; Brother On A Brown Horse
Tilt Everything is bricking out. Nothing turns red or black or hits trips or boats up without consequences. By that I mean the man gnawing on his knuckles and his baby daughter somewhere he can’t go...
Riding Backwards
Mama tries to hug me, but I push her away. Run down to the tracks where I know I ain’t supposed to play. But l do anyway. Everyone does cuz there ain’t nothing else to do in Cadiz, Ohio in 1950.