The impression that the leaves make in the ambient silt composed of road exhaust, dust and disappointed entitlement that pervades the neighborhood is just a little piece of beautiful. Continue reading
After hosing down Offspring with sunscreen before taking her to the playground, I saw this on the stoop. And it seemed like a nicely moody, New Yorker-like image that they’d put in front of some wholly unrelated piece of fiction. You know, the images that make anything melancholy? Because the fiction in the New Yorker never makes you want to just stick your head in the oven. Continue reading
It’s July. It’s alternatively hot and thunderstormy. I have an advanced case of Summer Slowdown Syndrome, rendering me nearly insensible for larger swaths of the day than I will admit to if pressed on the matter. Continue reading
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