Sitting in the second row of the balcony at the New York City Center ballet, I, sixteen, entranced by the [...]
Decades ago, when my brother was about ten and I around fourteen, he began to spend an extraordinary amount of [...]
*This story is written from the perspective of the author's former roommate. The names have been changed but all events [...]
Our April reading will be stories on the topic of Fleeting Connections, as read by Neighborhood contributors Fran Giuffre, Trevor [...]
*This story is written from the perspective of the author's former roommate. The names have been changed but all events happened as stated.
Andy is being a serious cocksucker and holding onto my money. He won't give me any. He says it's for my own good and that I'll just go and spend it on drugs. He's right, but it's irrelevant. It's my money! He's my brother, not my father. He'd be a better father than Pops is, but that's a different story.
I'm in withdrawal. I've felt it before, but never this bad. My bones are aching and I'm freezing to death. My whole body hurts. It just fucking hurts. Not any one place in particular. All over.
Sometimes when you're in pain, like when you have a headache or a stomach-ache or something like that, you can move around, get into the right position and maybe you'll feel a little bit better. This isn't like that. It's more like I'm uncomfortable being in my own skin. You apply that logic, the idea that if maybe if I can just get into the right position it will feel a little bit better, but it doesn't help. It just makes things worse.read more...