I have some flash fiction up now at Apocrypha and Abstractions.

It’s an old piece and more representative of who I was when I was 23 than who I am now.  Still, I always think of a particular bar on Grand Ave. in Brooklyn when I re-read it.  I think I died there more than any other place.

It was more sedate back then.  And, of course, you couldn’t smoke there.