My very first hit I’m like 13 years old. I never even smoke a cigarette before, but I’m a Kat Borkowski wannabe, and she’s the one hands me that joint. This is at Newt’s on Blair Street back in the day, before it got cleaned up and put on airs with some calling it Shissler Playground, the official name.
Short Stories
The Killer of Second Chances
I get the call at 1:17 a.m. “Jerry?” “Ben,” I say. Just stating fact. As I stand, I hear snow brushing our house. My wife, Dominique, rustles the bed, sits up, flips on the light. Her big blue peepers flash a question. “Ben Plankton,” I mouth. She squints, shakes her head. I hold up an … Continue reading The Killer of Second Chances
Good Night Moon
“You’re new to this, aren’t you?” says he. I swallow. I say: “You are in fact my very first call, sir.” Connect! “Tonight?” “Ever, sir.” Because how can you connect if you lie? Then, hurriedly: “Sir, I could switch you to somebody else if you’d like, sir.” One-Mississippi-two-Mississippi-three-Mississippi. “You’ll do,” he says, and I hear: … Continue reading Good Night Moon
Scented Beans Destroy Themselves
Chick Ernest had been chatting with other parents when his son nearly died. The basketball season ended around Thanksgiving and the Sharks went to Kat’s Kradle, the name on the T-shirts. Coach Taylor made a speech in which Chick, assistant coach, finished his sentences. Everybody got a trophy (they’d won zero games). When Gene Tarantino—Taro—held … Continue reading Scented Beans Destroy Themselves
The Tears of the World
I am Brenda McNally, and after work me and Dustin Biggs rumble into Rotten Ralph’s on 2nd Street. Another couple’s going as we’re coming — “Dibs!” — and you know, baby, we grab those barstools like they’re Black Friday door-busters, a happy-hour coup. I order craft beer. Dustin goes Coors Light, as usual. We chat as … Continue reading The Tears of the World
Playing Wilt Chamberlain
Based on the exploits of William E. Lindsay in the 1953 Philadelphia high school basketball championship game. And then there was Wilt. He did not play in freshman year this game he deemed for sissies. Too shy to let greatness break out. His contained talent whispering like radiator steam. But in 1953, the Overbrook Highlanders’ … Continue reading Playing Wilt Chamberlain
Evil People Are People Who Love Evil
Uncle Joe fumbles with two cigarettes — one unlit, the other sputtering out — while turning off of Hunting Park Avenue. His long, thin, tobacco-stained fingers conjure a connection. He steers with palms and elbows and inhales before his lips even touch the paper. Ignition. “The torch has been passed,” he says, punctuating with a … Continue reading Evil People Are People Who Love Evil
Hospital View
I snag Styrofoam cups and that gnarly-ass napkin with lipstick marks from under one chair. Straighten out them old magazines and leave that newspaper just alone because you know as soon as I toss it, someone’s going to come looking for it. News is on. Connie, at the desk taking calls from the OR, tells … Continue reading Hospital View
Frank Diamond 