Off the beaten trail from The French Quarter. A tiny gutted Craftsman bungalow, one story, an open porch. Enough space for eight tables, like we always dreamed. Two on the porch, two in the windows. The others in the middle of that slanted Creole living room we called our restaurant. You insisted we had moreContinue reading “Wait”
Tag Archives: writing
Whitechapel Cat Calls
When he’s gone this long, he usually leaves the terrace window open. Forgotten, or delayed. Either way, the food’s running thin, and the city’s seductions are calling. The strays in heat are yowling and leisurely carriages are clip-clopping outside my brickhouse lair. I pounce up the stairs to my landlord’s study, three flights above theContinue reading “Whitechapel Cat Calls”
Hello, I am Ego
Hello Ego, good to meet you. Again. We’ve met before haven’t we? I’m sure of it. You’ve always been there, so often in fact, that I mistake you for a friend. So often I mistake you for me. You do a clever impression of me, by the way. Your voice, your accent, the expressions andContinue reading “Hello, I am Ego”
Relegated Vessels
[a redraft from the story, A Relegated Ship, Run Aground, included in Strangely Fierce Fables] She is a rusted merchant ship, the oldest remaining in Ireland, moored to rest along the banks of the Grand Canal. She’s named the Naomh Éanna. Completed in Dublin’s Liffey Dockyard in 1958, sailing in her prime as an AranContinue reading “Relegated Vessels”
A seal for disquietude
I can see my seal again. The air in my flat crawls a shiver up the sleeves of my nightshirt. The floorboards are patchy warm on my soft morning toes. I am waiting for the final gurgle of my coffee machine to spew its steamy starting airhorn. I want to sit at my desk butContinue reading “A seal for disquietude”
Paul Carreo 