Scott W. Alten, 3 november 2011
Mathew 13:54-58
Isn’t this the carpenter’s son? Isn’t his mother’s name Mary, and aren’t his brothers James, Joseph, Simon and Judas? Aren’t all his sisters with us?
The inside-bevel gouge jumps when it hits the knot, the tip leaving the wood and creating a small but deep cut (... więcej)
Scott W. Alten, 3 november 2011
“Mostly we just check ID’s and stand around.”
It was my first night as a casino security guard and my training had fallen to Officer Frank DiTelio. His instruction and advice were all delivered in short staccato statements made surreal and robotic by the device he pressed (... więcej)
Scott W. Alten, 3 november 2011
By her second drink he could see the ‘friends’ speech ebbing over his horizon even though it was, more than likely (or maybe not), still weeks away. At 36 he had her by half a dozen years and, while she could still fill in the ‘single’ circle on a questionnaire, he had to begrudgingly fill (... więcej)
Scott W. Alten, 2 november 2011
Tommy hits her and she goes down. She doesn’t even scream or yelp or say “help” or “stop” or nothing. Tommy laughs, says “quiet old bitch” and pushes her head with the bottom of his Nike. She’s real old, maybe 60 or 80; her face is wrinkled like dried fruit. Her clothes are old, (... więcej)
Scott W. Alten, 2 november 2011
It’s Saturday night and I’m sitting at the bar in Tony’s Baltimore Grill in Atlantic City, contemplating my life over a cold beer and waiting for Paris Hilton who is, as always, late. We’ve been dating (boyfriend and girlfriend, she would correct me) for exactly three weeks. I teach English (... więcej)
Scott W. Alten, 2 november 2011
Agnes waited until Billy Ray’s truck had pulled out of the driveway before going to the mirror and examining her jaw. He had hit her open handed so she did not expect more than redness, perhaps a slight swelling. She’d had worse and since it was Friday she was expecting it later, maybe. Paydays (... więcej)
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