A man pointed a gun at me. It was black with a greasy sheen. His hand trembled as he faced the fifteen or so of us at the bar. I looked at my wallet. Three plastic cards were wedged behind a clear window. No one carries pictures anymore. I wonder why we still carry wallets when phones do all the work. I had already given the man my money. When he asked for my wallet, I thought he said, “Get down on your hands and knees and lap up milk from a saucer.” He was clean-shaven. A spot of moisture on his lip caught the light from a neon sign across the street. He shook the gun and said, “Give me the wallet or I’ll shoot you.” I remembered something Andy Warhol had said before he was shot. He said his life had felt like TV. The gunman’s voice was wavery. I wondered why he had chosen to rob a bar on a Monday night. Again he said, “Give me your wallet or I’ll shoot you,” and when I did not act he pulled the trigger. The gun jammed. He ran out of the bar with what he had. Desire is for things that do not exist.


“my body remembers its first silence”

Cafe Du Monde

“I see our undoing in that slow motion moment.”

Tread Lightly

“One minute my girl is curled against me... The next she is crouched forward, finger pressed to the page.”