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The Oakland Summer Pt. 1: The Ambassadors

Everyone was talking to me at once, and Zonk was nowhere to be found. The guy who used to have our job paid a surprise visit, and inexplicably dressed in traditional Muslim garb, demonstrated Kickboxi...
Posted by ________ on Fri, 26 Oct 2007 04:37:00 PST

I met Rick Danko

At the time, it made perfect sense, and then I realized I was talking with two dead men. The dream began, as they always do, en medias res. The Band reunited and played their first show in 30 years on...
Posted by ________ on Thu, 11 Jan 2007 11:25:00 PST

Let the man think for a second

If I am to believe the words I hear from Euro tourists in Boston, Americans have absouletely no sense of style. Judging from their tastes, it looks like a contest between factory workers and bell hops...
Posted by ________ on Fri, 29 Dec 2006 09:38:00 PST

smile

A very old found poem. Part 1: Newspaper weather report 2: Concert ticket 3: Business card   A Valediction for My 18th Year I. A great week to be on vacation. Today: A picture perfect summer da...
Posted by ________ on Mon, 18 Dec 2006 10:27:00 PST

Red Wine

In college, it was costly flying back east, so I returned only for Christmas. It was fall break senior year, and as usual, the campus had emptied except for the foreigners or those too poor to ship th...
Posted by ________ on Tue, 26 Sep 2006 10:31:00 PST

meditations at corolla

If it was only the sound, we might be content with recordings or at least an amplified coast. But, in truth, the ocean's allure goes further than any surface reason beach bum's and salty dog's write o...
Posted by ________ on Thu, 24 Aug 2006 08:15:00 PST

Many years ago...

The Manning Street Choir Still unaccounted for their midnight song, the shadows hide a cricket symphony something like the swaying of a hammock. The streetlight and I drink the nights last beer as my...
Posted by ________ on Mon, 31 Jul 2006 11:16:00 PST

Saturday Night

Another bullshit night in suck city, or so I thought, walking home alone after muffing the eight ball and losing the nights last game just before the dick breathed staff at Our House West sent us home...
Posted by ________ on Mon, 31 Jul 2006 11:12:00 PST

Finish this story

  When the cop asked to come in, she bolted out the backdoor... Cassandra, wan and bloodied, meanders down a narrow back alley, a correigdor of dumpsters really--and in her mind she plays the min...
Posted by ________ on Mon, 17 Jul 2006 01:00:00 PST

The Lonesome Queer

John-Paul Catenza Op-Ed Over the years, Ive become well acquainted with the odd movements of hookers. In high school, my friends and I would eat breakfast at South Station, surrounded by pairs of wrin...
Posted by ________ on Wed, 12 Jul 2006 09:22:00 PST