Cat woke me up. I immediately looked at my dollar fifty alarm clock. It was twelve noon, with the sun shining through our windows. My little sweetie was jumping up and down like a Mexican jumping bean, spitting and cursing in English and Thai, doing her loco bit at the Polar Inn, a second rate […]
On the Lower East Side in the 1980s, a naive young man finds that copping dope with his friend, the famous playwright, poet and actor (and hardened criminal) Miguel Piñero, ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.
San Francisco, July 21, 1996 In the refrigerator are five cakes: carrot, lemon, raspberry swirl, three-layer chocolate, and some kind of tiramisu, or maybe it’s mocha. I can’t tell. Five large, heavily frosted cakes, a slice or two missing from each. Otherwise, the refrigerator is empty. I want a cheeseburger. I want fries. I want […]
Duke knew it was going to be a bad day, even before he got out of bed. He had a splitting headache, and a lump the size of a nickel bag on the back of his neck. He couldn’t remember where he’d been last night—or how he got home. Jill was nowhere around. She’d probably […]
I was seeing double with fatigue. But Narcisa was just getting started. She hopped along, from subject to subject, like a cocaine-crazed, hyperactive little fairy, flittering between realms of thought I could barely fathom. I forced my eyes open. What else could I do? I needed to know all about her paranormal genius mindscape; to […]
I’m a face. My breakout from Pentonville in 1958 has been praised as one of the greatest prison escapes of all time by the likes of south London gangster Mad Frankie Fraser. The details differ somewhat in the various accounts but here I’ll put the whole thing together, just in case you can’t be bothered […]
Santa Barbara–1980 I didn’t have a mattress yet. it had been three months, but I still lay in my room on my dirty clothes, arranged under a fitted sheet. Ron stood in my doorway, leaning against the jamb. He stared at me, idly picking at the skin on his chest underneath a red silk shirt. […]
“Love and Strangulation,” an excerpt from a novel by Carl Watson, with a painting by Stephen Lack, from Sensitive Skin #13.
My father liked to say that I’d always been impossible to find. During birth, he recalled, I couldn’t be extracted with forceps. No one could see me, so I made my own way out of my mother. The midwife only located me after following my cries and throwing a towel over the delivery table. Rubber […]
On the subway, I see a boy who is about 10 years old; he’s with his father. Both of them have red hair, but the boy has Asian features—a round face and pointy eyes. His father has a long face and Western eyes. Maybe this boy is something like me, a halfling. “Do CIA agents […]