written by  Domenic
What a crazy weekend that was! Either way, he had forgotten all about the girl until he ran into her on his lunch break. He was walking outside with his co-workers after getting a soup and half a sandwich.  The last weekend was pretty wild. His friends had thrown a couple of really fun parties. He always seemed to be able to meet girls at parties but never seal the deal. Then if he did he would hook up with them for a few weeks and then one of the two parties would lose interest. He would never want the commitment of being with a girl. Or she would just be crazy.

                He and his co-workers would always talk about their most recent sexual conquests. Some you could tell were lying others either were great liars or actually got laid from time to time. They were a pretty funny bunch. He was one of two American born white dudes in his crew of colleagues that he would hang out with. Other than those two there was a Jamaican, a Puerto Rican, a Guyanese, a Turk and three African-Americans, two of whom were white. They all dug woman, sunshine and cold beer. They loved to shoot the shit, talk shit and make remarks to whatever pretty ladies would walk by when they went out for a sandwich for lunch. The only other American white guy was the most vocal of the group. He was in his mid-thirties and couldn’t stop playing around with women; never settling down, always on the prowl and always in some shade of a hangover. He always seemed to be making moves and plans. They liked the freaky chicks and, as the Jamaican would say, if they aren’t freaky yet, when we get to them, we’ll freak ‘em out. He always thought that was funny. This particular day they had decided to run downtown a bit to grab lunch. Funny he would see her then, he thought.

                The day had gone from crappy to beautiful. The clouds left before noon and the sun came out to dry up everything. The temperature had climbed to around 75 degrees Fahrenheit by 2 O’clock. As they were bouncing around outside at work, plans were forged to get drinks after work in the sun somewhere. They all worked uptown on the east side so they decided a good spot would be across town on the Hudson River. There were 2-for-1 drinks on the roof deck. They could catch some rays and get buzzed. At 3:30 they all jetted across town save Jack, who had to stay back and finish up. When he finally did, at around 5, he was ready for a cold one. He left work so quickly he had forgotten to take off his work boots as he walked across town on 125th street, the sun beginning to set in front of him. He had a backpack on, a cheap pair of sunglasses, a t-shirt and dirty jeans. The street was crowded, people were out in full force. He walked with a purpose.

                He made it there and met up with his co-workers, who had also invited some females along and everybody already had a few in them. They ordered more and more drinks as the day grew dimmer. Amtrak trains would occasionally rumble by on the elevated track between the bar and the Hudson River. The mood had a hint of lust. Finally, when they had had their fill of liquor and cheap beer, they stumbled down to Dinosaur BBQ. The beer kept flowing. Eventually, after quarts of beer and tons of laughs they left, carousing down Riverside Drive. It was a Friday and some of the crew wanted to go home and others wanted to continue. A few left, disappearing down into the 1 train nearby to zoom to wherever their homes were. The rest piled into the only other American’s pick-up truck. Their mission was to drop off a girl on the east side then head downtown or to Brooklyn to keep the buzz going. Once they dropped off the girl they hit the FDR and sped downtown. Blasting music and singing at the top of their lungs. After passing under the Williamsburg Bridge an axle on the truck gave out the truck started drifting across the highway, miraculously not hitting anyone. Coming to a smoky stop at, unbelievably, an exit ramp, they all got out and pushed it the smoking heap the rest of the way.

                Ditching the car on a side street they wandered around the far east side of Manhattan. In the no-mans-land just north of the Manhattan bridge and near the river they came across a bar with some drink specials and a jazz band playing. Shots and more shots and then finally the blackout arriving at full speed. While dancing to some jazz Jack had taken one of his female co-workers in his arms, spun her around and then back into his arms and they locked lips. Jack didn’t remember much, an image here and so forth. As he came to the next day lying naked on top of the covers of a strange bed, he still had his work boots on. As he looked to his right memories came flooding back. He at once remembered a her, a female he had know for a while and who he saw everyday, riding him. Her large breasts bouncing up and down and her moaning. She, lying there naked as well, began to stir and her eyes open. She was stunned in an ‘I knew this was going to happen’ kind of way. He got up, took off his boots, put his jeans on; put his boots back on, put his previously sweat soaked t-shirt back on. He looked out of her window, it looked like a gorgeous day and it seemed like they were in the financial district.   About as far downtown in Manhattan you could get before ending up in the water, or Brooklyn. He was tired and hungover but in that good way. Maybe it was because it was finally springtime, or maybe because he could feel the mid morning sun on his face through the window. He turned around to find her wearing solely a sock, laying on her bed in a fake half sleep. They had both awoke above the covers. He walked over to her side of the bed to retrieve his backpack. As he did, she rolled over, sat up with her breasts bouncing and her hands grasped his belt buckle, undoing it and removed his jeans.

                After he was finished he put his pants back on, again, said thanks and made his way to the door. On his way out he could hear her say ‘don’t tell anyone about this’. He smirked, put on his glasses and stepped out into the sun. 

Written by Max Epley  

Mark turns the oven on at two and throws a pie in half an hour later. It’s for the staff. At five till three you can smell it from Miss Avery’s classroom. Jimmie and Charlie have their desks cleared by then. They look at each other and nod like they’re in on something too cool for words. Sometimes Charlie makes a face at me before he and his brother bolt. Jimmie isn’t so mean, but he isn’t so nice either.

I stuff my papers in my bag and run down to Antonio’s after the bell rings. The doors are open even though the restaurant isn’t, indifferent to the riffraff that might run in off the streets. I stand at the length of one of the doors to look in without being seen. The twins are at the counter.

           -Yeah, Charlie and his brother say in unison. They don’t have the swagger like when they’re bragging about their uncle in the mafia.

           -You being good to your old woman? Mark is spreading flour over the counter.

           -Yeah, they say in unison again, like little puppies in matching jumpsuits.

           -All right. Scram kids.

           The twins make a v-line for the door, and I step behind one side praying they go to the other. They do, hitting the gas and rounding the corner in gay anticipation. I peer in the place again. Mark is pulling dough out, and three waiters are sitting around a table with Cokes.

           Grandma is sitting on the stoop with Maria smoking a cigarette when I get home. She nods to me and Maria tussles my hair. Such a cute boy you have, she says.

           -Why are you late from school? Grandma looks old. She wears bright colors and bright eyeliner and lipstick and black spandex pants. Everyday. Maybe it’s her age, or maybe it’s her daily pack of smokes that have separated her skin from her bones. I tell her I’m not late, and she tells me to sit with her and Maria. She takes a puff of her cigarette and blows the smoke up out the corner of her mouth, making an ugly face.

           -This neighborhood is changing, she says. I remember when I was a girl here this whole block was doctors. That house was a doctor, that house was a doctor, that house was a dentist, she points down the row, and that house was a doctor. Now I don’t know anyone here.

           -Mmmhmm, Maria remembers.

           -Mmmhmm. Uncle Ben and Uncle Nick used to take me out shopping every Saturday. They said I could buy whatever I wanted. She waves to Miss Butterfield walking by. How are ya? I sneak inside and run upstairs to my room.

           The next day at school Charlie and Jimmie are talking about Antonio’s. The scar on his face is from a knife fight. You should’ a seen the other guy. They are impressed by their story. Once I followed them home after some older kids beat them up, and they cried to their mom. She held them like they were babies. I felt sorry for them, but it hurt the next day when they hit me with sticks. Take care, comb your hair, Charlie yelled after me while I was running away. I wanted to punch him in his stupid mouth.

           On Wednesdays the twins get picked up by their dad. I take my time packing my bag when the bell rings. The classroom files out quickly, but Cindy lingers at the door with questioning eyes. Her friend told me she likes me.

I blow past Cindy. Down a flight of stairs. I count 12 of them. Out the double doors where a streak of sun hits my eyes and cuts across my face. Fall air feels good, except when you run too fast and get a headache. Steady pace, I remind myself.

Antonio’s doors are closed today. I can tell from a block away. And when the doors are closed, they are always locked. Disappointment and relief dumb me over and I walk past. Wait. I knew I heard someone coming out! Without a second thought I slip inside.

It’s dark and cool. The waiters are chatting at their table while Mark spreads flour over the counter. The place isn’t the same when I’m here with Ben’s family. Unsure of what to do, I walk to a wall and look at the pictures hung there. Frank Sinatra. Sicily. This is stupid. I have to do something, and if it’s to run out the door, I can never come back. Instead of taking a deep breath, I turn around and walk straight up to Mark.

-What do you want, kid? He’s working on a piece of dough and doesn’t look up at me.

I don’t say anything.

He stops his work and raises his eyes. The scar is there, on his cheek bone, but it isn’t threatening.

-A Coke.

His reply is short of a laugh, but he gets me the Coke.

-How much?

-A dollar. He’s back to work.

I put five quarters on the counter and tell him to keep the change. He makes that snorting sound again and rocks is head back and forth. Things move slowly between us, like time is partial to the people here where it doesn’t give a lick for anyone else. I concentrate on keeping up.

Mark slides the pile of quarters back to me.

           I don’t make a move.

           -If you’re just going to stand there, he says, you might sweep the floor.

written by Domenic

Bukowski once said ‘someone was getting f*cked and making no secret of it’. Well that’s exactly like what it sounded was happening in the apartment above her. The loud, passionate sounds had startled her out of her sleep. Awaking her just before her alarm was to go off for another day of work anyways. That is probably what I sounded like the other night when I was with those two guys in my friend’s bedroom, she thought. She got drunk at a party and wanted it bad.  Did that make her a slut? She always wondered. She pretended that she was a bit more intoxicated than she actually was to ensure that the guys would take her on. No matter how drunk she ever got she knew exactly what she wanted anyways. Those guys really gave it to her good too. By the end of it she couldn’t really get off the bed and when she did, to go to the bathroom, she couldn’t really walk straight. She peed, put on her jacket, took the telephone numbers of her lovers and walked home in the brisk Brooklyn dawn.  She could still feel herself opened up from earlier. When it felt like they were rearranging her internal organs. 

                She sighed, turned on the light in her room and went to her kitchen where she put some water on to boil for coffee. Once she finished getting dressed she left her apartment locking the door behind her. She stepped outside and immediately into a big puddle. F*ck. It was pouring rain. Just get to work, get through the day and go home.  It is Thursday, or what she liked to call, Friday Eve. No matter how bad the weather got here or how crowded it seemed she loved living in this place. She had moved here for a boy, a young man, a couple of years ago, after college. He wound up attending graduate school out of town. His loss, she thought. Nothing like being able to do whatever you want wherever you want at any time of day or night. The anonymity was amazing. You could turn one corner and be in a completely different world. In that regard, you could be yourself all the time. No being a part of a clique or falling into some sort of social niche. At any moment you could jet and still be in the city. 

                Getting off of the subway the rain had subsided and it almost seemed like the sun would peak through later. She hoped it would, after all it was March, it felt like we had been in the wintertime forever. What an awesome winter it had been though. It barely snowed. Well besides that one blizzard right before Christmas. It was cold though. That bitter, biting January cold that feels like if you don’t get into warmth soon you will turn into a statue. She remembered that night in December when the rest of her friends, those who hadn’t left yet to go to wherever people go for the holidays, were all hanging out at an apartment in Bed-Stuy, right on Bedford Avenue. There was a show in the city that night, nothing too crazy but a fun little thing. James Murphy of LCD Soundsystem was to DJ in the Village somewhere, a new place, something about a red fish. Anyways they all decided to convene in Bedford-Stuyvesant and hang out beforehand. Drinking beers/whiskey, not really sure what to do or where to go. Playing beats out of the stereo and carousing all over the building. There were people hanging out in the lounge downstairs so they all went down there with full cups of whiskey and dancing in their veins. After imbibing wildly they took to the street in an attempt to make it to the show in the Village. It was snowing hard. It seemed to get worse and worse as they walked down Jefferson Street although it kept them in great spirits. Most had to keep their heads down, some dove into the snow and made angels. They finally made it to the A-train and started dipping into the drinks they had made for the road. Bursting out into song near the end of the ride they got off at W4th street station and made their way to the venue on Bleecker Street hollering into the snowy night. At one point she remembered dancing and looking up to the ceiling and feeling that a million pieces of glitter were flowing down and encompassing the crowd. The mood was euphoric. 

                When the show was done they went out to the street. The snowing had stopped and the village was blanketed in a foot of snow. Once the snow had really started to pick up earlier in the night people had decided to stay in. As a result there was an untouched fresh snowfall in Manhattan. The occasional cab would pass by as they staggered down Bleecker street throwing snowballs at each other and laughing.

                She got her second cup of coffee for the day and a croissant and went up to her office. She nodded to her boss as she passed by his office and sat down in her cubicle to flick on her computer. 

                She was originally going to leave college and go to Thailand for a few months, maybe a year. The economy had hit the crapper right when she graduated so the job outlook was not great. However because of her boyfriend at the time she was convinced to move to New York and was also able to find a job. At the time she was kind of bummed to not have been jetting out of the U.S. however after a few months she grew to like it and now she couldn’t have imagined it any other way. New York City was her home. Not a place she would just be passing through, living for a couple of years and then moving on. She would live in other places and travel over the world but the city would always be her home.

                By the time lunchtime rolled around the sun had started to peak out of the clouds. It looked pleasant enough outside for her to sit outside and grab a bite. As she was walking into her favorite deli, a taller man was walking out with some of what seemed like his friends or co-workers. He was laughing and gesticulating when they locked eyes. He stopped, smiled at her and said ‘Hi’. At that instant she realized she recognized him from somewhere although she couldn’t place it. His sharp blue eyes stood out at her. 

She shrugged it off and went to order her sandwich. As she was doing so her phone vibrated. It was a text from an unknown number. ‘Hey we met last weekend, are you free this week for a drink?’, it read. Who the hell could that be? She grabbed her sandwich, paid for it and walked back to her office.  Up the elevator, down the corridor, past her bosses office and to her desk, she looked out the window at what was now a sunny day and began to finish her work, maybe some of her friends would be interested in a happy hour later. 

written by Domenic

Each day he saw her as he walked down Bedford Avenue towards the L train in the morning. He had to be out quite early to get to work, maybe an hour before the real morning rush. There were always very few people out. Some were even returning from the bar after a rough night out.               

 Sometimes he would catch her looking at him as they walked on opposite sides of Bedford. It was always kind of a ‘what are you doing up as early as me’ look. Maybe she was a teacher and had to get to her students somewhere in the Bronx. Or maybe she was just looking at something else. He could never tell. Each day it seemed to happen. There was something in her walk that drew him to her. Something in the way she moved those leggings in the winter time. She had a nice round rump sitting on top of those not too skinny and not too fat legs. The way her hips pulsated in the late moonlight or early dawn along with her pretty face, smooth and soft, had him catching himself staring. She wasn’t the best looking girl around but she had that sex appeal; a certain je ne sais quoi that even the hottest ones don’t have. He just wanted to sling her over his shoulder and bring her somewhere safe and warm and work her out for hours. Bury himself deep inside of her never to return; never going to work again. Or better yet maybe just get his kicks before work each day.   He could only imagine what her ass would feel like in his hands. Each day they would descend into the subway on N7th Street and she would venture down the platform whereas he would stay where the stairs dropped him. That’s where he would have the best shot of catching the 4 train uptown. Plus the car that stopped at this location on the track was never too crowded. He could get a seat and read.                

One day, on these daily walks, it was pouring rain on the way to the subway. By the time he got to N7th Street he was drenched. Standing at the top of the subway stairs seeing his breath come out in front of his face and looking down at the huge puddle at the bottom of the stairs a voice came from nowhere.

‘Are ya going down there or what?’ It was the woman on Bedford.
‘Nah’ He retorted with a sly smile. The last thing he wanted to 

As he looked over to her he noticed her vibrant eyes. Up this close his assumptions seemed correct. She wasn’t the prettiest nor did she possess the best body but she had some zest he could not place.  Her face had a little meat on it to and she seemed to be fairly endowed in the chest. She filled out nicely in her taller than average frame.

‘How about you?’ he continued.
‘Nah’ with another grin, ‘I think I am just going to go back to my house and go back to bed’
‘Ah that sounds great, can I come?’ he asked in a half-joke.
‘Sure, follow me’
And so he did. 

Followed her back down Bedford Avenue until they got to Grand Street, where her apartment was. They went inside, made some tea, undressed and got into bed. 

written by Domenic

The job was something he had to be up really early for. In the winter the sun was just rising when he went to work. In January, when the air was cold and crisp and his hands would get dry, he would be getting to work as the first rays of the new sun were peaking over all the crap of the South Bronx. Over the highways and the garbage a beautiful orange and red glow would be on the horizon. There is something so serene of that time of the morning. 

                Seeing that sun in front of him as he walked over the 3rd avenue Bridge towards the stairwell down into the construction site always made him happy. It was like he was seeing the beginning of a new era opening just before his eyes. Behind him there were the remnants of the previous day, still dark and gloomy. 

                The walk from the subway on 125th Street and Lexington to the Third Avenue Bridge , at dawn, was an experience in itself. In the winter it was still dark out at 6:45am when he’d be doing this little trek but also very cold. Not many people, save the crackheads and the Teach for America teachers going to their jobs at an elementary school on 128th street, were out. In the early spring and late fall, however, when it was dark out at 6:45am but not too cold, he would stumble upon some strange happenings on this daily walk.

As I walk over the bridge
Climbing over the Harlem River Drive
I peer out over the horizon to the east
Over the factories
Over the public housing, the roads, the cars, the Harlem River.
I turn my head in that direction and over the South Bronx
comes a yellow blue orange haze 
Floating over the river and up into the clouds
Behind me lays darkness

Things that have burned out.
That are now lost
In front is what lays ahead
Things that are about to spark.
Things that have sparked.
They are aflame with life and lust
and are shining brightly up into the early morning sky.

The orange and red streaks up towards the heavens get brighter and brighter

Blinking lights on the Triboro

I exhale and my breath rises in front of me and then passes behind.
The air is crisp
I open the cold lock at the gate, catch one last glimpse of the horizon
and walk down the stairs...   

written by Domenic

For as long as you can remember you have been going to school. As long as your mind has been able to withhold significant amount of memories for a long period of time one theme has always been present. School. Class. Teachers. Endless homework assignments. Quizzes, tests and strange stares from professors.
You are pushed to succeed, to get that grade. Get into a good college, get into ANY college. You go to college you party you do just enough to pass. Then sometime in Late April/Early May of your senior year it all comes to a head. Suddenly everything is due at once and all of your finals are taking place at the same time. You scramble to finish then you turn in your last paper and stand up from your last final walk out of the door and realize, I'm Done. Even after partying for a week straight before you graduation it still hasn't sunk in. Then finally you have a black gown on with a flat hat and you are sitting in seats on a field or in an auditorium. Someone calls your name and you walk across the stage only to be handed a piece of paper with your name on it. The next speaker says congratulations and then you take your cap off and fling it as far as you can up into the air. As you watch it go sailing off into the distance, it's landing place unknown, you can feel that weight, those years of perpetual school, all being released. As it starts to fall back down you lock eyes with a close friend of the past four years who is smiling from ear to ear. Someone you have spent countless strange hours with and who you may never see again. You smile back. Put your hands on the wheel, let the golden age begin.