Friday Night in Brooklyn

There comes a time after an old fashioned and telling a woman that she looks like your mother (except for the gap between her lower canine and her first bicuspid, which just goes to show how much prettier mom is anyway) when it’s time to go home.

That cocktail was the treat that did me in. Now I’m waiting for the JMZ to take me a fifteen minute walk away from my house or to ride it an extra four stops to walk ten minutes to Anthony’s along the way I would pick up food, cheap fast Latin food and a beer or more.

There are weirdos all around me and I fit in with my straw hat and silver jacket it’s too warm for, weirdos who sit on the subway platform, weirdos with legs sleeved in tattoos…

Crowded train arrives. I pause. And it’s too crowded to write comfortably. I can’t think as well; there’s nothing more to say.

By Daniel Ryan Adler

Daniel Adler writes fiction and nonfiction and is finishing his MFA at University of South Carolina.


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