Tag Archives: urban

The Last of the Coojettes

Posted on November 21, 2024 by John Biscello

She was the Last of the Coojettes. That’s what Rob called her. Rob was my mother’s cousin. My father’s nickname for Rob was The Moron. Rob worked as a postman. My father worked as a truck driver for Budweiser. Rob … Continue reading →

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New York Story

Posted on November 19, 2024 by John Biscello

When the bird hit me in the side of head, I had no idea what had happened. It felt like someone had blindsided me with a loaded handbag. I clutched at air and went down immediately. I didn’t feel any … Continue reading →

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Monkeys and Barrels

Posted on November 9, 2024 by John Biscello

None of it was going anywhere. It had been a while. Both things were true. Both could be beginnings. So let’s go with both: None of it was going anywhere. It had been a while. I felt like a dehydrated … Continue reading →

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Fruit

Posted on August 26, 2024 by John Biscello

I was happy to find out that my story, “Fruit,” was selected as a “Brooklyn 2023 Non-Fiction Prize Finalist” for Brooklyn Film & Art Festival’s competition. A filmed recording of the piece is being scheduled. “Fruit” can be read here.

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No Man’s Brooklyn

Posted on December 20, 2022 by John Biscello

New edition of my fourth novel coming soon. From the valentine boneyards of working-class Brooklyn, comes a tale of first love, lost innocence, tragedy, and healing. Daniel Trovato, having left his native Bensonhurst years ago to start a new life … Continue reading →

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Fruit

Posted on May 18, 2018 by John Biscello

(Story from Freeze Tag.)    L & S was a candy store and newsstand located on the corner of 60th St. and 18th Ave.  L & S, which stood for Louie & Son, was owned by Louie Varinella: a burly, slightly … Continue reading →

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Kissing Anya

Posted on December 28, 2017 by John Biscello

Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn, novel-in-progress.      I was hanging out in the schoolyard, by myself, throwing a Spalding against the wall. It was something I did to relax.    Anya breezed into the schoolyard. She was carrying a … Continue reading →

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Stoop

Posted on October 20, 2017 by John Biscello

Brooklyn’s true altar, stoops gathering bits of heart– Voices raised to bond.

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Bensonhurst

Posted on October 20, 2017 by John Biscello

Bones of my birthplace, splintering in rapid tow– There’s no place like home?

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Rails

Posted on October 12, 2017 by John Biscello

Manic with vigor, city’s chaste love affair with itself, off the rails.

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