The rickety ladder of the fire escape swayed as he climbed. Paint from the rungs peeled off and stuck to his palms. The metal cans clanged in his backpack, but he kept up his steady climb.
Reaching the rooftop, he hoisted himself up and swung his legs over, rolling onto his side with the ease of someone who had done this many times. He allowed himself a moment to admire the sight: luxury condominiums touching the sky, the 7 train chugging along, and a bird’s eye view of the living collage of graffiti artwork that covered the walls of the building he was standing on. Continue reading “[Flash Fiction] The Mural”→
This is where I started—on the cold streets of New York, with the subway station to my right and a homeless man to my left. For years, this view of concrete and brick was my view as I hopped on the A train away from Brooklyn. I had a corner of Manhattan where I set up my guitar and sign: PAYMENT ACCEPTED IN SING-ALONGS, IMPROMPTU DANCES, AND SMILES.