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Weekly Contest #258
We finally felt that we were making headway in cleaning out the cellar in anticipation of the house being sold, but every new corner straightened out and organized would end up as another blast from the past, followed by inevitable chit chat. A partially enjoyed bottle of Seagram’s 7 that belonged to my grandfather (he died eleven years before I was born) opened up a flood gate of memories about the pool parties in our twenty five by thirty foot Williamsburg yard. Zia Katherine once told me that the local beat cops from McCarren Park would o...
Weekly Contest #257
It had been exactly one month since the worst day, and Bobby O’Malley still felt as if it were only a few hours ago that he’d been woken up by his hysterical wife with the news. The dirty, black remnants of a snow storm still blanketed every tiny front lawn on his Bay Ridge street. He always thought that a good snow storm cleaned off the sidewalks and streets, bringing all the shit and sludge down the sewers with it when it melted. Bobby parked the car on the street, and walked the block to his attached Tudor that he and his wife had cl...
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