"There's a likely spot," Chris said. He nodded in the direction of the highway bridge. The bridge carried traffic over a culvert and a utility road that led from a shabby warehouse district into the... [+]
Richard Risemberg was dragged to Los Angeles as a child, and has been working there since his teens while writing poetry, articles, essays, and fiction, editing online 'zines, and making a general nuisance of himself. He's survived long enough to become either a respected elder or a tedious old fart, depending on your point of view, and is still at it. It hasn't been easy for any of us.
When you are a competent old man who lives alone, you can eat what you want for breakfast. This morning I had noodles, or rather noodle soup, a favorite of mine for colder weather. Broth with... [+]
The room had become his world, for the most part. Two or three times a day he would totter to the little bathroom in a corner nook that had surely been a closet when the house had first been built... [+]