The Chrome Phase

She isn’t expecting me. Or maybe she is. She tipped me with her room key last week. I told her right away that I wouldn’t use it; I’m in a relationship. (How hadn’t that come up before, in all our conversations?) But I never actually gave it back to her. I know she noticed that. So, maybe.  Tomorrow morning she’ll be gone before sunrise and I may never see her again. Every day she’d walk from her office back to the hotel, stopping by the bar while I’m setting up, her skin glistening, her checks rosy. I don’t know what kind of work she does, but I do know - thanks to a spontaneous hug yesterday - that her skin smells fresh and earthy, like sunshine and sandalwood, at 5 pm. I loiter around her room and see her packed suitcase in the corner. I wish I’d seen the place last week. I wondered how she made this room her home. No doubt she kept her book on the side table. (I’d asked her what she was reading; now I wish I remembered.)  I look in the armoire, but it’s empty now...

This photo was taken on September 19th, 2001. This is what it looked like for several weeks afterwards. All over Jersey City were flyers taped to every telephone pole, sign post, newspaper vending machine, bus stop shelter, and mailbox with photos of missing people, most of whom were never found, lost at the bottom of that glowing pile of rubble. Former co-workers who were 66 floors high were in there too. So many of us didn't sleep for weeks, haunted by those ghosts and a skyline that was suddenly unfamiliar. On this day every year all over the internet I see "Never Forget" along with the horrifying images of the buildings up in smoke. I think about what a ridiculous sentiment that is. Never Forget. I understand that everyone means well, but how could I possibly forget? How could anyone? I wish  I could. I've been trying to forget for 19 years now. We will never be free from this for the remainder of our lifetimes.  So, thanks social media for trying to re-open the w...

I released the net and hundreds of balloons came sailing from above. They drifted gracefully on the warm air, descending with the rhythm, towards thousands of people. Once they hit the crowd, they danced up and down, side to side, the arena awash in a rainbow of color.

Her paw stretched out, tentatively, toward the candle flame. “Don’t do it,” said the human, knowing it was futile. She tapped the burning wick with her paw and flinched. “I told you,” the human said with a grin. Curiosity prevailing, she leaned in again, retreating with shortened whiskers.

I emerged from the tunnel behind a diner, a landmark I immediately recognized when I saw its metallic and neon reflection in parked car windows. I had spent a lot of time here in high school, the hangout of choice when practice was over but curfew was still an hour away. I shook off the nostalgia, knowing that whatever awaited me here tonight was not going to involve friends, grilled cheese, or crass jokes. I stepped through main entrance and swept the room, hoping to see a familiar face, preferably the agent who sent me here in the first place. He said it was a mission - my first - but gave me no instructions. All I knew was that something was about to happen here that could destroy the world, and I had to stop it. The interior was shiny and reflective, that classic Jersey diner style which caused jump-scares in corners when you caught a glimpse of your reflection in multiples. This could be helpful, I thought, having a view of all angles. I waved off the hostess, who did...