Blackhearts (mostly fictional recollections from long ago told with some undeniable truths) I believe it was the summer of '78, or possibly '79. Please humor my looseness around such details, as I think we can all agree that either one of those summers would have been a long, long time ago. Anyways, when I pulled in from work that day there was a girl sitting on the curb in front of my building; a melancholy looking girl with her chin cupped in her palms, her elbows propped up on her closed knees, and her toes pointed disjointedly inwards. I’d seen the girl a couple of times in the past week or so, coming or going from the apartment across the hall from mine, an apartment where at least three rowdy young guys lived along with their mean-assed Pit Bull dog, although truthfully it was hard to say exactly how many lived there, as there were generally a slew of kids hanging around that apartment, to recently include this girl who was currently perched on the curb right where I li...
The initial excitement created by my first assignment for The Post’s “Paranormal Column” quickly waned as I lumbered up the crumbling stone steps leading to a Goliathan wrought-iron door. If ever there was a vampire, this was certainly the sort of place it might choose to die through it’s days. A vampire? Ha! As if. So convinced, I rapped my knuckles with an unfelt boldness upon the door. He is playing up for high drama as I enter, spotlighted amidst what has the reverberating feel of a cavernous room, the entire space pitch dark but for some unseen trick of light which projects upon him from some hidden place, as there is no visible beam shining from either above or below. The effect is as if this illumination emanates from within. It is a swell parlor trick. I must remember to ask him how it is done during the interview’s debriefing, though I am still too curiously, excitedly apprehensive to take time to jot down that tid-bit in my notes. There is the shuttering of the do...
While Walking Never really thought about a “favorite” flower before, but: I like the smell of honeysuckle when it hits you unexpected like, when you are just walking, your mind adrift, and the scent seeks you from out of the blue. I like a magnolia, 40’ tall and covered in giant, white blooms. Reminds me of home. I like the heartiness of a dandelion. Little SOB never gives up til you get his roots. I like the azaleas when I watch The Masters, and the cherry blossoms in DC, the peach blossoms in Atlanta, and a ’Nawlins fuscia. I like the clematis Pooky-Bear planted on the back fence. But mostly I like the smell of a honeysuckle when I am walking.
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