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Brighton Beach 1963 Facing the back of our apartment is the alley. Street games spill over into it, and we like to make up new ones: “Bet you can’t hit the wire with the ball.” Sometimes the super yells at us. There are broken bottles and smells from garbage cans. But the alley is our backyard— private, hidden from grown-up eyes. [...]
It was well after midnight. My father and I sat on the stoop outside my new apartment on Thompson Street eating burgers in the late August heat, unable to get in. A cockroach scuttled beneath my feet and up the small half-wall to where my fries lay. “Ugh! Why?!” I jumped to the opposite side of the stoop. We had [...]
