The first man I met from America was so obviously an American. He spoke with a southern drawl, a mountainous gut from good living and a Harley Davidson shirt. He used to be in the military. Some kind of radioman I think. He was called Jesse. But his Italian, Ohmygod, his Italian. The best, better … More Alba Sulla Montagna Part 2
Some time ago, my partner and I spent much time back in the country of her ancestors: Italy. As we combed through records and bounced around government offices and communal cemeteries, I had an epiphany of sorts. I sat down and wrote them out. I do wonder if Anna’s ancestors would ever have imagined that … More Momento Mori
When I was just a boy, my father, my uncle and I would practice subsistence moose hunting. It is the act of hunting to eat, rather than to collect a trophy; which is an unforgivable act. We’d take ATVs far into the mountains, dozens of miles away from any roads, which were hundreds of miles … More Colosseums of Time
We paid our rent to Alaska dearly that summer. The most beautiful places in the world charge the highest. Alaska charges the most. The landscape will bring you to your knees, but in turn you will pay in weather, darkness, cold and sanity. I spent those short summer months in a rainy town building a … More Alba Sulla Montagna (Part 1)
Jacque slowly made his way up the path to the crest of the hill. There sat a bench and table. It overlooked the ocean and the boats in the bay. He pulled out a bottle of scotch and two glasses from his bag. His old hands trembled now, not like in days before. He would … More A Great Adventure Together
The tumbler sits on the table. The clear tinged brown liquid is warm and causes a warmth in my throat, a bravery in my heart. Hemingway said about whiskey “when you are cold and wet, what else can warm you?” He also said to never drink when you are working. I pick up the tumbler … More An Angel in Germany
The floor was worn into a rut and the floorboard creak noise was nearly constant as patrons, drunks, and whorish men and women walked the same track to the beat up bar. They queued politely and sometimes not to order meals and drinks but mostly drinks. He sat there holding his beer in the dusty … More Where the Floor Wears
His face is weather beaten. It’s leather from the wind and rain. He sits in a hard plastic chair. The light is harsh and accentuates a scar he received in a drunken bar fight years ago. It is round like the broken tumbler that an angry drunk smashed into it. His eyes are dark and … More Wind Fighters
The plane vibrates like all planes do as I land. This isn’t nearly the worst I’ve felt in a plane before, a teenage boy with sweats on and oversized sunglasses is trying to play it cool. I go back to reading. We hit an updraft. He kicks into the air and yells out an obscenity. … More Paul’s Saints
The leaves finally had started to turn their proper color. The nakedness of the trees was merely gone. Summer would be here soon and the cold mistress of the snow, winter would be but a memory. Until it came back. It didn’t matter. She stared at the trees thought the window and thought beautiful things … More May, When the Trees Turned Green
Storied By Josh 