“Colorful Characters” by Bruce Harris
“I busted whores here years ago. Now? Minnie Mouse . . .”
Tag: New York City
“Last Smoke” by Andrew Cotto
Chris rattled his cigarette pack and placed it on the bar next to his Droid. He considered the cost of another cold beer and the cost of a fresh pack of smokes. He remembered pulling loosies out of a candy jar for a quarter each. Now it was hard to find loosies anywhere, and a pack of smokes in Brooklyn cost thirteen bucks. Even happy hour drinks at this old-school joint were expensive . . .
EVENT ALERT: Loving Donovan launch event, featuring Bernice L. McFadden and Terry McMillan!
In New York? Join us Wed., 3/4 at 7:00 PM to celebrate the release of The Half That’s Never Been Told!
EVENT ALERT: The Half That’s Never Been Told launch event, featuring David Hinds of Steel Pulse!
In New York? Join us Wed., 3/4 at 7:00 PM to celebrate the release of The Half That’s Never Been Told!
Spotlight on the NYU Creative Writing Program
On Friday, February 13, the NYU Creative Writing Program will feature Akashic authors Nelson George (The Lost Treasures of R&B), Bernice L. McFadden (Loving Donovan), and Arthur Nersesian (The Fuck-Up) as part of their Reading Series. Today, Akashic is thrilled to spotlight the NYU Creative Writing program.
“Nightfiends” by Rob Hill
The riffraff of Tompkins Square wear wool jackets in the humid night, perhaps in defiance of the elements. The squirrels aren’t panhandling as usual. They’re preoccupied with something in the weeds behind a bench, what looks to your eye like a mangled piece of bread or a crumpled paper bag. A closer look reveals a human hand . . .
“Murder at the Apthorp” by E.B. Miele
Mid-eighties Manhattan, when the weird were weirder, the dirty dirtier, and neon orange tits pulsed the heart of Times Square. When hookers in hot pants and platforms sneered at the down-and-outers on 96th and Broadway, and even the cushiest berth, like the Apthorp, with its locked gates and classy facade, hid horror . . .
“Some Country” by Jacqueline Freimor
In the open side door of the school, Koenig leaned on his broom and watched the junior high children stream from the building at the sound of the bell. Line after line, they spilled through the front doors like cockroaches from the drains in the basement. He pictured a colony of roaches wearing yellow Star of David armbands and laughed . . .