Non-Fiction Living

It’s good. I can see that. The lines are there. So are the composition, saturated palette and light. The filmy Christmas lights hung on th...

I ask you a question. Your reply is short. You smile politely. It is clear you consider this query answered. It’s a curt sentence, but a s...

I’m on the subway and in spite of being a seasoned New Yorker, I make a rookie mistake. I get on the train at the wrong platform and now ...

That yellow tree begged. No - demanded. And for that time, you of sinew, of audacity. Like a pretty, petulant child. Stole every morsel o...

The pause before speaking. The silent blank pages slipped between dense, thatched prose. The lull, the exclamation.   To sate, not fill. E...

Would it be I could live two lives. Not twice. That's not what I mean. Simultaneous. Porous. Eating from both tables. Not sampling - n...

The broad stiff smile that comes not from deep inside but stays on the face, mask-like and inept. Smile because you can't help yoursel...