uptown liquor

i find a bottle of unopened vodka in my 18 y.o.’s closet and enquire. i don’t know where that vodka came from, she says. is it yours? uh, no. oh. I just found it in my closet. it came from somewhere, i say and wait. nothing. when I find the $15.67 charge for uptown liquor* … Read moreuptown liquor

stars

ciphers obscured by clouds shooting, failing at shining, losers wearing ripped euro-trash jeans and scuffed biker boots streaking across a velvet curtain smoking hand-rolled cigarettes in the lounge at the airport in Rome impervious to the fake gods that named them typical teenagers planets are the real deal, solid  

at the monastery

jet lagged. in the middle of the night, on Italian TV, a subterranean dream. i click through the channels to find: Whitney Houston music videos. there’s always Whitney Houston videos on Italian TV, i don’t know why; chaste adverts for pleasure devices; a sexy demonstration of a non-stick frying pan; an Italian commentary about a … Read moreat the monastery

man, falling

at the pool, there’s a man with a beautiful front crawl; each stroke flows effortlessly into the next and he breathes on the count of four. his turns are perfectly timed. at the end of the open swim, he ducks under the ropes, crossing the lanes until he reaches the ladder. that’s when the lifeguard … Read moreman, falling

eyeliner, black

i need eyeliner, black. like any teenage girl with an ounce of self-respect, i steal it from the drugstore. under the watchful eye of the pharmacist, Mr. Greenwood, i edge past the magazine rack, read the labels of shampoos before arriving at the heaven that is drugstore makeup. apply lipstick, red, redder, reddest. pretend I’m … Read moreeyeliner, black

abacos

on the airplane, my husband befriends a guy from NJ with two sullen teenage boys. later, at the ferry, we meet them again, only this time the wife is there. she arrived a day early and has bought copious amounts of groceries now piled in a plastic wheelbarrow. she advises us to get a golf … Read moreabacos

small town girl

outside Lukie’s store, the pay phone rang. at the checkout Mrs. X, in her slippers and curlers, grabbed me by my ear and tugged hard. “Thief,” she hissed. she thought i’d stolen scratch tickets and there was nothing i could do to convince her otherwise; i had not choice, i moved where she tugged. fortunately … Read moresmall town girl