Tag Archives: Prose

Literary Fire Sale

Posted on February 7, 2017 by John Biscello

As part of a countdown deal, the Kindle edition of my novels Raking the Dust and Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale will be available for $2.99 from February 8th-15th.    

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Tali’s

Posted on February 5, 2017 by John Biscello

   It was a thing. Every Tuesday night at around 7 or 8, the black Cadillac Sedan would pull up in front of Tali’s bar, and the driver would hustle around to the other side of the car, open the … Continue reading →

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Seeker

Posted on February 4, 2017 by John Biscello

   Ready or not, here I come.    I can still hear my voice, calling out, a bright echo in an archival loop.    Hide and seek was a game we used to play all the time.    At my … Continue reading →

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Miss Roach

Posted on February 4, 2017 by John Biscello

    Kenny named her Miss Roach. He named her that because of the stiletto heels she always wore.    Look at them—he’d always point at the heels first, as if she were an extension of the heels and not … Continue reading →

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Tracy

Posted on February 3, 2017 by John Biscello

   I won’t say Tracy was the first girl I ever fell in love with, but she was definitely my first obsession. I was sixteen at the time, she was fifteen.    She was a friend of my friend, Camille, … Continue reading →

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My Unreal Family

Posted on February 3, 2017 by John Biscello

   At times I feel like I invented them, along with the rest of my childhood. Which, in a sense, I suppose I have. They are who they are they are, regardless of my perceptions and analysis, yet  I have, … Continue reading →

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At the Bottom of Childhood’s Well

Posted on August 12, 2016 by John Biscello

   It is a magic time, it is a deadly time.    We are fresh and newly forming, we excel in discoveries, delight in newness.    Our souls are malleable, there is fluidity and grace oozing from us, and with … Continue reading →

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Some Kind of Summer

Posted on August 9, 2016 by John Biscello

   J.B., I have to kill someone by the end of summer.    Joe Ninj stated this casually, as if it were a school assignment or project with a deadline.    Five minutes earlier we had been integrated into our … Continue reading →

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Glow

Posted on August 8, 2016 by John Biscello

The coke parties were my favorite. It was when everyone was happiest. Everyone meant my father, my mother, and their friends, Teddy and Debby. Occasionally, Debby’s brother, Wayne,  was part of everyone. My mother would say—Teddy and Debby are coming … Continue reading →

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Dirty Dancing in the Dark

Posted on July 29, 2016 by John Biscello

   Brooklyn, the Walker Theater, 1987.    I am twelve and precariously balancing on the shoulders of Fat Brian.    Come on, you’re not getting any lighter, Fat Brian shouts.    I reach up and lock my fingers around the … Continue reading →

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