The Cereal Box_This House_Happy Retirement_Anger Art (Excerpt)
Catalog Guide:
The Cereal Box
“Thanks a lot.”I turn toward the voice of what I thought was a surly teenager but quickly realize is in fact a woman in a wrinkled navy suit. She is staring at me as if I just cut her off on a busy freeway when she was trying to get to work instead of removing a cereal box from the shelf of my local Stop and Shop. “Excuse me, did I bump into you” I say confused. I didn’t think I had touched her in any way, but I could be wrong. My purse is rather large.“No” she sighs. “But you did just take the last box of Crunchy O’s.”Still confused, I look at the shelf where I see a fully stocked shelf of su...
This House
It’s early in the morning. I can see the ocean through the kitchen window. The water hits the shore forcefully, but the sound is blocked by the soundproof windows we’d put in a few years ago. At this hour, the house is so quiet, you can hear a pin drop. In fact, it’s like this at every hour. Ever since that boat accident last summer.The whole family was there. My parents. My little sister and older brother. Even the family dog, Jackson. We rented a speed boat, something my father had wanted to do for a long time. He liked to think of himself as the adventurous parent. But he never really did a...
Happy Retirement
Happy Retiremwww.onedoor.ccent Marla flipped through the age worn pages of the family album thinking how each picture told a story. She came across pictures of her dad’s retirement party from June of 1982 at the ‘Knights of Columbus’ hall. The one photo of her dad and mom spoke volumes. She never seen her dad so happy as he grasped her mom around the shoulders pulling her in close. She could see the lines of stress relieved in his huge smile. He had such a good time that night. Seeing his friends from work, dancing the jitterbug with his sister and slow dancing with her mom to the ‘Anniversary Wal...
Anger Art (Excerpt)
PAUL January 1, 2013, 5:12 a.m., Hong KongWhere the fuck am I now? I dig my palms into my eye sockets desperately trying to quell the migraine. Flashing billboards are threatening to send me into a seizure. My senses are assaulted by the bouquet of rotting food and the pre-dawn screaming in Cantonese. The ground is uneven, sticky with run-off from God-knows-where.A hand is reaching for me and in my state of helplessness I grasp for it. “Happy New Year, Mr. Paul.”“Happy New Year, Kit. Thanks, man. Hey, where am I?” At six feet tall and 220 pounds, I dwarf him–well, everyone here. Kit is my righ...