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|Posté le: Lun 26 Juin - 12:01 (2017) Sujet du message: READ BOOK Brooklyn Encounters
Brooklyn Encounters is a gritty collection of short stories. You're sure to laugh at life, question your own and gaze in awe at the twists and turns many of us really have no control over.
So anyway, when you first walk in off the street you have to stop. You have to stop inside the door, pay the cover and wait for your eyes and ears to adjust. The place is so dark and loud. People are screaming conversations at one another because the band on stage is explosive. They’re into ‘Abuse’ already and hundreds of people are packing the front of the stage cheek to cheek, singing along to the song, bouncing, dancing; rubbing bodies. Frank’s Museum is the best band ever to grace a stage, this stage, in spite of others who’ve been signed, marketed and all but forgotten...
He stares at her. He would like someone to help him live and in a sense, he wasn’t really going to die. He once saw himself as a whole person, but now he knows he is just a host for a whole bunch of parts. His kidneys were kidneys. They had a job to do. Their purpose in life was to remove waste from the blood and regulate water fluid levels. They were like the department of sanitation with a part time gig as the water meter reader. They didn’t give a rat’s ass about him. They didn’t even know him. He was merely their host, their Holiday Inn. He imagined it was the same with his heart and his brain and his teeth and his dick, God rest it’s soul. That poor bastard died years ago. All these little important parts could live on in another host.
“You see, Frank. I’m a good detective. I’ve been telling everyone in the squad room for years, there is a heart hidden in there somewhere. I’ve been arguing about a sliver of humanity existing inside that thick skin of yours. I was just telling...
You could say the two of them were stepping into uncharted waters, walking into unknown lands but the fact of the matter is these two are nomads. They have no home, no safety. They have no real sense of security. They have lived like this for the better part of the last three years. Two victims of the elements, soaked by rain, frozen in the winter and disgusted with each other’s sweat glands as the reek of summer sifts up from street corner grates to mix with the putrid smell of bodily cologne...
Kevin stares at him from the other side of the iron table. He sits in his chair on one end of the table, scratching the cuffed wrist of his bound hand with the forefinger of his free one. The empty chair is Robs chair, but Rob isn’t sitting. Rob is pacing, holding the diary, rubbing his forehead and quietly laughing at the insanity of it all. There is no honor in seeking the truth. Rob knows this. He has lived with this all of his life. When you are dealing with scum, doing investigations, you have to lie, fool, cheat the truth right out of them and what the hell is the truth, anyway? Is the truth ever anything more than what a majority of people, believe to be true...
Jon Simonds Basically Brooklyn column is a regular feature of The NEWSUN. He has appeared in New York Newsday, The Brooklyn Spectator, The Bangor Daily News, The Bradenton Herald and numerous other publications. He loves, reading - writing his children and his I-pod. You can reach him at: email@example.com.
Take a ride through Brooklyn.
And, uh - Watch the closing doors.
bound: 198 pages
filesize: 1602 KB