Thanks to the editors and readers of Spillwords for showcasing my story, “Love for Sale.” Call it too many years of online dating. Like the story, by clicking the little
For years, I stumbled in company like a strap-hanger in the subway trying to keep my balance as the train sped along to its next stop. I wanted to discover
My two sisters and I shared the one bedroom in the apartment. We were each five years apart. I was the youngest. My parents slept in the living room on a
Occasionally, we’d walk to City Island east of Throgs Neck surrounded by the Long Island Sound where restaurants served up fried oysters, clams, and eels. I thought the world consisted
Everywhere I heard different languages, the staccato Spanish of Puerto Ricans with the constant call to “Mira, mira”(look look). Then there was the richly embroidered Yiddish and Russian and Italian
I grew up counting bees and straining chunks of sandstone into empty soup cans. I watched cats play with dead mice and then run away up the block to an