Saturday, August 1, 2015

Flatbush Creek

We can see Bergen Street a block away, but Flatbush is closed, with police and fireman's tape criss-crossing the sidewalk and barring our way, and trucks flashing blue and red lights stretched across the road blocking traffic. Cops stand around idly chatting while, in the center of the road, water bubbles up and sheets into the gutter, turning the Avenue into a river.

"Water main," the policeman explains somewhat helpfully when we ask if we can walk under the tape to our destination. "Gotta go around the block," he adds shaking his head.

Thursday, July 30, 2015

Debaser

The guys at the liquor store know me well enough to be on a first name basis, and to ask me what's new.

"Well, I had a dream last night that Katy Perry was my muse," I say. Their shocked faces are all the reward I need, but, of course, being who I am, I can't leave it alone.

"'Dear Penthouse,'" I say, to general laughter, but really, it wasn't that kind of dream at all.

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

There's a Story, There

"Yeah," the stranger who stopped to pet Coco says. "I'm the overqualified MD who works the checkout at the grocery store."

"Oh, man, what happened?" I ask.

"I'm not so great with tests," she says with a shrug and a bent smile.

Monday, July 27, 2015

She's Right

"I'm not trying to make you feel bad," Katie says. "I'm really asking: when you say 'objets d'arts,' why do you pronounce the 't'?"

I don't really have a good answer, but I smile uncomfortably and try to play it off, saying, "Well, I'm just not that good with languages."

"But you are," she insists.

Sunday, July 26, 2015

Like Father, Like Son

"I visit your blog every two weeks or so," my dad says on our semi-weekly phone call, "and I have to say, I really envy your ability to write fiction. All I can do is write and read the law."

"But not everybody can do that," I say. "And it really seems to speak to two sides of your personality: you like to solve puzzles, and you like to stick it to the man."

Coming Home

I come back from the grocery store, and Katie is napping on the couch under her snuggie. The dog is asleep right next to her on the floor.

My heart fills up, so full I don't know what to do. I stand at the door watching the two of them sleep, while the milk I bought collects condensation, until I go back to the kitchen to start making ice cream.

Saturday, July 25, 2015

In Bruges

The sullen waiter at the place we call "Angry Indian" brings our platters of food, and Kevin and I continue our discussion.

"So if you guys ever do get rich," he says, "I need you to do me a favor. I need you to get an apartment in Bruges."

"I feel like this is like one of the criminals on the crosses around Jesus, saying 'Lord, remember me when you come into your kingdom,'" I say while Kevin nods firmly.