After my first day on medicine clinic, my head was spinning like a top. I couldn't believe how disorganized the modern American hospital could actually be. If anyone had told me, "dear, when you finally become a doctor, your colleagues will constantly be trying to kill your patients, and you'll have your hands full trying to stop them from practicing medicine," I would have just laughed nervously and moved on.
Yet, here I was.
Nothing could have prepared me for the carnage I was witnessing, and not just in terms of my coworkers being lazy, stupid, and sometimes downright malevolent....
She didn't look at him.
"So that's my answer, is it?" He stared at her, hoping, praying for - well, anything. Any kind of response. A show of emotion.
She didn't look at him.
"Fine. If - if that's how it is, if that's - fine." He wanted the weight to lift from his shoulders, now that he knew the truth, he wanted something to happen, some kind of change - he wanted to feel something.
There was nothing. He was numb. He wasn't even angry, he just felt cold.
"So I'll be going then."
Her back was to him...
"I hope he gets it - thanks Alex, talk soon." Keri hung up the phone, and I hoped I did the right thing. Keri and I were together off-and-on for 4 years or so. She loved me, I knew that. Not until after I broke promises and left her alone, only for her to be so hurt she went to be with my brother, who hurt her even more.
I haven't spoken to Keri since the time I promised her I'd take a Greyhound to visit her in Niagara Falls, and I didn't go and she never forgave me. That...
Ricky did not realize that Luca Brazzi was a man's name, and so, all confused, he had dumped someone completely different, the wife of an architect named Lucia Brazziana (the wife not the architect), in the Hudson river, and had then sent a coded message to the Corlione family. As for Luca Brazzi, he did not sleep with the fishes; he simply overslept. So one can imagine Titaglia's confusion when he showed up, unannounced, with an icepick in hand, and stabbed it through Titaglia's eyeball.
This was in the era before horse heads and cardinals. When a vague optimism was...
"And they thought that was porn?"
"I don't think they would have called it that. Erotica, maybe. But...yes. There's something so innocent about it, isn't there? I love the kimono on this lady here."
"I can't believe you're looking at the kimino."
"This isn't your late-night shocker, this isn't your gorey pop-up nonsense. This is - I suppose it isn't classy as such, but it's... There's something about it. It's old fashioned. Charming in its way."
"They had very different ideas then."
"The world wasn't sexualised, I suppose. Seeing half a naked woman was shocking enough. We're just looking for...
My mother was not svelte. She spent her life washing clothes, lifting children, and hauling sacks of potato and flour from the market to our small apartment in Flushing. My father frequently looked at the Sears catalog, commenting on the models within. "Why don't you look more like this one?" he would ask, as though the answer weren't obvious. My father did not look like Marlon Brando (young), and my mother did not look like Marlene Dietrich. Yet somehow, I never heard my mother ask my father why he didn't look like this one. Long suffering, some might say.
She...
Upon my soft upholstered chair
I sat and spoke into the air
For they were listening, you see
The ones who come and sit with me
I cannot see them, though I try
Their form is but a wistful sigh
More solemn than a flow'ring tree
The ones who come and sit with me
I have no proof that they exist
But still my thoughts of them persist
A secret kept? A fantasy?
The ones who come and sit with me
My audience in silence waits
As softly I pass though their gates
, he assured the frightened convenience store clerk. The first thing was potato chips. He needed potato chips RIGHT NOW, he told her, or he would literally explode, because there were bombs strapped to him.
Don't worry about the bombs, he said again, trying to calm her down. But get me those potato chips quickly. I want the deep-fried sour cream-and-onion flavored type, he said, speaking slowly and enunciating so that there would be no screw-ups.
He had the advantage. She would be forced to retreat behind the counter, retrieve the bag of succulent potato chips that he knew she...
REALLY?? THIS is where the last 30have lead me?
A mere two weeks in to my 30-th year in this life and I look around.
Over the years I've asked myself many questions. Why? Why am I here? WHAT!!? What happened? In a relationship or with my business.But one question still stands out in my ever burning mind....REALLY?
Not so mush of a question, but rather, a statement of anxiety or disbelief. I have no desire to fail, but to succeed. No desire to just "make it", but to win!
I realized that there is more in my question than...
It slamed shut, the gate. by itself. Or at least, it looked like nothing was there. But there was, a ghost maybe? The cold and chilling presence crept past them very slowly, they could feel it circling them. For the two men never believed in paranormal activity until now. The call, 2am, a water main had broken in the neighborhood right by the field when something mysteriously detached it. They went to the sight, only to find nothing was wrong. All of the pipes were attaced properly. it had look as if nothing had been pampered with. Taking a look...