Short Story

OLD SLIP STATION, HIPPY COPS, A BLACKSMITH, AND THE ROOSEVELT DESK

It was 1972, when 205 Mulberry Street was Building Maintenance headquarters for The New York City Police Department, and Police Headquarters was a few bocks away at 240 Center Street, a building whose purpose had outgrown it, and was in the process of being replaced by the nearly-completed 1 Police Plaza. I was 19 and […]

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THE JACK DANIELS FACTORY: FROM THE TALES OF THE TASH BROTHERS BAND, TRUE AND OTHERWISE (THIS ONE’S THE GOD’S HONEST!)

Bobby Dee’s big sister Sue (the late, great Susan D’Alessandro) tells him she’s got to use up a bunch of bonus air miles before they expire but she can’t possibly fly all over the place at the moment so she tells him “Here, go somewhere. Take Crespo.” So that was that and we were off

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The 45

JD sure changed. Pretty fast, too. When I met him he was in his early twenties, fresh out of the Army and Vietnam, where he earned a bunch of medals in combat. He was also a musician, a hell of a player with a knack for arranging. His bands were always well rehearsed, tight and

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SKEETS

Skeets is a bastard, a real son of a bitch. Which doesn’t make him a bad guy. Runs a sloppy, happy good-time joint on Staten Island just like the one he had in Brooklyn for a lot of years. Comedy shows, some good blues, a little rock and roll, whatever’s working best or fitting his

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Call Me Monty

I found this slipped under my door. Thought I’d share it with you. Earth here. Yes, that Earth. Third stone from the sun. The planet on which your butt is seated. That’s right, it’s the world talking to you. I know what you’re thinking; how can a planet talk to humans? Well, I’ve been talking

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