Chess was a humiliation that hung over him like a leper’s bell.
Lorenzo and me, we’d squat our own building. It was the new frontier.
Streetlights throw the blinds against the ceiling. It’s 7:00 p.m.
Is she dreaming of the rivers soft with codling in her hometown?
It was true. We would probably never visit that place again.
In a way she enjoyed the slow, sad feeling of letting it go.
The tree was shaggy and it bore scars of shrapnel from the war.
The animals are dying. All the beautiful women are dying too.
“I’m torturing you,” she said. “It isn’t fair.” Now I saw there were tears.
Tony’d had guns pulled on him more times than he had toes.
Her name sprang to my lips in strange prayers and praises.
Later, in a sudden about-face, she gives herself to him entirely.
I know you want your mother’s dial tone like you want a KFC box.
The materials were everyday and the possibilities were open-ended.
Like a ghost, he appeared at the entrance of his hermitage.
Beyond the glib off-white palisades lies the answer to an urban dream.
I was all alone in a little room, nothing but that big gun in my face.
what happens in all these villages after we ride through them?
Vultures liked to perch on the austere ledge outside my window.
It is music opening and closing, Italia mia, on Bleecker, ciao, Antonio.
Nobody knows where I am, Ned thought. No one in the whole world.
Be glad the numbness in your legs isn’t reading on your face.
I saw Baryshnikov twice. Heard Pavarotti, Marsalis, and Ma.
I saw my mother’s face turn dark like the winter sky before a storm.
The store was one of his last-ditch efforts to make a pile of money.
New cartoon from Mick Stevens: “It’s hardly worth the trouble tonight.”
New cartoons from Chris Weyant, Joe Dator, P. C. Vey, and more!