Pizza Cat

Pizza Cat

The rumors are true. The Pizza Cat is real. How do I know, you might ask, skeptical gleam in your eye, that such a creature exists? Have I seen this mystical, mozzarellical thing and lived to tell the tale? Did I run into one, many moons ago, stumbling out from

The Tale of Astrid the Beautiful

The Tale of Astrid the Beautiful

Somewhere in the untamed French countryside near Versailles, on the border of all that was good and evil, once sat a small patch of wild lavender, and just beyond, a smaller spring. An accidental journey brought Astrid to this spring, its water tumbling like wet poetry across flowering earth. She

A Morning With Mr. Moonshine

A Morning With Mr. Moonshine

It was early morning in early fall. The world was dark, as it tended to be on autumn days such as this, newly unfolded and still smudgy from whatever was left of the night. A hum, low but gentle, rumbled not far behind Peter Luck, who was speedily making his

Moonlight Serenade

Moonlight Serenade

There was no way around it: Luna had lost the moon. The revelation was quick but biting and it happened last night around dusk. She had been sitting with her cat, Marama, on the hill overlooking a town fading to pale, evening blue and there assumed her usual moon-watching position:

Sincerely And With Feeling

Sincerely And With Feeling

As the black crow flies, so too does the luck of anyone brazen enough to steal from the Painted Desert for the sake of a vainglorious because I can. Such a creature of inordinate vanity cannot, by the laws of moonlight and the writs of sunshine, remain unpunished for very

Revelation Underground

Revelation Underground

Making its way toward 59th Street, the subway was but a metal serpent slinking beneath Manhattan’s Upper West Side. Moments before, the doors of the 1 Train had slid open and four or five sleepy passengers emerged, settling with their foil-wrapped deli lunches onto blue plastic seats. It was the

A Saturday Story: The Big Secret

A Saturday Story: The Big Secret

Rat-a-tat-tat went longish nails on old wood. She sat at the time-abandoned Rathskeller Pub, waiting. Three tall jack-and-cokes into her Sunday afternoon, the strange man finally arrived, a wiry figure dappled in late-day shadows. The man looked almost wizardly with a long, white beard and smooth, white hair woven into

Light On Ice

Light On Ice

Everything was ordinary when the morning in question appeared, new and bright with a faint layer of fallen snow. December days in Manhattan were sometimes like that though, routine at first glance then cold and tricky as the sun settled down.

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