A Cold Call_It was a rainy day in town._What You Would Do for an Audience_Just a Moment of Magic
Catalog Guide:
A Cold Call
A Cold CallBy Jerry HymanI had no doubt there would be a snowstorm up north. I always feel it in my left knee when the weather is about to take a drastic change for the worse, even from such a great distance. In the summer, the thunderstorms, lightning and rain, and in winter, heavy snowfall. I love the snow. Always have, from the time my older brother Albert and I would build snow forts on the vacant lot across the street and shovel neighbors’ walks for spending money. I hadn’t seen a snowstorm for years, living in retiree heaven Florida for the past thirty-five years. But a few months ago, I...
It was a rainy day in town.
It was a rainy day in town. He looked outside and groaned. The commute was going to be awful today. Better to leave the house at least ten minutes early to avoid being late; another tardy and he’d get an official warning. Thankfully, the coffee was ready, he always prepped it the night before, but his wallet wasn’t where it should be. He overturned the couch cushions, looked in the desk drawers, sent papers scattering across the floor. He broke out into a sweat as those ten minutes dwindled into seven, then five, then zero. He threw up his hands and rushed out the door, leaving his wallet. He ...
What You Would Do for an Audience
Painfully nostalgic paradise presses in on you from all sides; with the same thoughtless repetition as the waves, you ask why you’d even take the time to come here without her. The Jamaican sun beams from its high perch, warmly penetrating your skin that you know is in need of sun; the teal waves lap at your feet, cooling them with refreshing playfulness; the air is thick with the smell of salt, a beach hallmark you’ve long craved. But everything could just as well be a monotone, texture-absent gray. Your eyes—no, your whole body—remain cold. The last time you were here keeps replaying in your...
Just a Moment of Magic
The snow holds off ‘til I reached my parents’ place. I’m rumbling up the long driveway in my overladen car when the first little flakes drift down from the gray evening sky, as though Michigan had just been waiting for the perfect timing to welcome me back. Stepping out of the car into the sharp January air, I am immediately reminded of the fact that I’ve spent the last five years in Florida where there aren’t really any seasons to speak of – though it does get slightly less humid around this time of year. My blood has been thoroughly thinned and my tolerance for real wint...