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By MARIO WEDDELL Features Co-Editor & Asst. Photo Editor Published: February 22, 2012 a hint of warmth from a winter flame, this ember gasps with pulsing light. not quite dead, as I remember a bright glow full upon my face— but a memory replaced by time and ash and grime and smokey layers. an urn of present pleasures past, the [...]
I faintly recall a day on the train when there was a big commotion in my subway car, three performances being held right before me. There was a man playing the guitar, singing a silly little love song. He was to my right and he had a sweet smile, earnestly holding out his hat for a dollar or two, or at the very least a
I guess with all the time I spend Looking past your eyes and that I really should just vocalize Whatever’s on my mind
Charlie slides into the kitchen, clutching his bullet wound. He grabs onto the counters, trying to find something to help stop the blood.
Christopher Darcangelo’s life was only saved because his daughter had given him a Father’s Day card covered in silver glitter. The glitter was reflective enough for him to see the flash of movement, and long years of experience had him throwing himself sideways seconds before the creature would have pounced on his back and sunk its teeth into his neck.
Thanksgiving is an inherently awkward holiday. It’s like a starter holiday whose purpose is to get you into the holiday spirit, but there’s nothing really exciting about it.
I heard the familiar clank of Grandma’s cane slapping against the concrete hallway floor all the way from the living room couch. She burst through my parents’ perpetually unlocked apartment door, and with little regard as to who was in the room, she dug into her bag and yanked out a birthday card and a plastic sack of about 500 NYC-brand condoms and tossed it on my lap.
On Nov. 23, 2002, my hamster, Gunther Wheeler, died of asphyxiation. It was Thanksgiving Day. I had come upstairs in an attempt to hide from my mother who was furiously cleaning our house before the arrival of the extended family, and I hoped I could evade her long list of chores
Eve squints her new eyes. The trees, glimmering in their fresh bark suits, want to know her name. The sharpened grass blades
Why do you waste your time wasting? At least shout at the stars to make sense of your waste, your breath lonely and important
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