​from the book - Minute Tears

On my last trip to New York, I took a subway uptown to the MOMA. While waiting on the subway platform I read a small local newspaper someone had left behind. It had a small advertisement for New York’s greatest tourist destination.

​

​from the book - Minute Tears

Years ago, a chilly, cool evening, the kind of evening you can seemingly feel the frost in the air. It doesn't exactly hurt to breathe the cold air, it’s more like a dancing of electricity on your windpipe.

​

​from the book - Minute Tears

To howl at the moon is something we all understand, but when you are driven by compulsion, it’s not so entertaining. I became an honest-to-goodness werewolf years ago. The story is rather unremarkable. I wasn’t the bastard child of a priest, I once read that was were werewolves came from, my story is far less riveting.

​

​from the book - Minute Tears

First the white lights, then it was like the lights were turned out. Not just black, the absence of all light, the deficit of everything. Complete stillness, no sound or smell, to be precise, nothing, complete sensory deprivation.

 ​

​from the book - Minute Tears

Returning from the Dunkin’ Donuts one Sunday morning, Larry was in a slight rush, OK, maybe an exaggerated rush. Football was starting in a few minutes and as was his tradition, he needed to deliver donuts for his buddies fat kickoff of the early game. Pizza would follow for the afternoon game, he wasn’t responsible for the pizza.

​