My father is watching in amazement as my phone rings but I don’t pick it up. “You’re not going to answer that?” he asks, incredulous. “No,” I say. He’s seventy-one, reading the Times, wearing a black sweat suit and sipping … Continued

Flea Market ||| from Drunken Boat

And as I sat there, far away, I found myself cataloging the few things I own, and I began to think about a day when I’d ended up at a small flea market out on Coney Island. The market was … Continued