I can’t actually believe sometimes that I am living this life.
I think that's why I started making up stories. Because I wanted to read something, and the story I wanted to read didn't exist.
I was recently asked, "Sal, what kind of Jew are you?" It was not a rhetorical question.
“Master, who is the angriest guitar player in the world?”
Reuven Chaim Moshe Ben Moshe Chaim Reuven stared out the pod bay window. Another distant planet disappeared out of view, and he let out a sigh. His ship, the Nebuchadnezzar, stabilized and went into hyperdrive. Shabbos was coming, he thought.
"Please let me write something worthy, something weighty, or winged....or whatever You want...just bring it! Because we need it...bad, G-d!"
I was raised on a solid diet of DC Comics back in the 80s and thusly have a soft spot for secret identities and leagues and secret societies and such.
I’m looking back through the old scraps of writing I have saved over the years in order to write this...
An imagined glimpse into a barista's inner life. Because everyone needs someone with whom to drink coffee.
My Jewish...
Is not a religion...
It is lusty and dark and different.