fiction and musings from a gay black dude with delusions above his station
So Mr. Romney chose Paul “Vouchers” Ryan as his running mate, choosing the quick and easy path of a no-nonsense, white male, dyed-in-the-wool conservative who isn’t a complete kook (like Sarah Palin), but who also still appeals to the Tea Party wing of the Republican Party. Mr. Romney chose against having a woman or a…
As fast as he could, Ángel raced back with the book. All during the calibration, he felt that something was wrong. It shouldn’t be this hard, he thought. He scanned through he pages, to see if there had been something they missed. “Shit!” he yelled. “Cut the power! Cut it!” Gabriel frantically slammed down all…
On the roof deck, guests mingled while nibbling hors d’oeuvres as mellow music played in the background. A-Five arrived late, and when he did, he made an entrance. “What’s with the fatigues?” “Hey, Buddy, you didn’t say this was a fancy dress affair!” A-Five smiled. “Didn’t I?” He grabbed grub from a nearby tray and…
In the days after Aileen’s visit, Ángel doubled down on his reading. He took her words to heart and read like their very survival depended on it. His mother was proud of him, but worried that he pushed himself too hard. “It’s wicked important, Momma,” he told her. His grandmother felt proud of him, too,…
Albertson Wallet V had a peculiar way of walking that mixed a prance with a swagger. He had a large build – he played rugby in college – which accentuated his peculiar locomotion’s menacing air. His father, Albertson Wallet IV, taught him to always have a presence when entering a room. A-Five, as he was…
Gabriel lived in a makeshift. Makeshifts were housing units made out of old, abandoned buildings, factories, shopping malls, car dealerships, whatever happened to be available. His makeshift unit sat in the back of an old car factory. It was four times the size of Lillian’s old apartment, and had high ceilings and a balcony/loft where…
That last insult was the last straw. “How dare you!” she yelled. Her hand smacked him upside his head multiple times as her mouth frothed on variations of the same insult. Little bastard! Dirty bastard! Stupid bastard! Blasphemous bastard! Ángel started crying. Lillian restrained her mother’s hand, if not her mouth, until she finally shouted…
Lillian had to go shopping. She left Ángel with her mother, a harmless enough move, so she thought. Her mother would watch her favorite TV shows, too engrossed in them to fuss about this or that. Ángel would read. Thing was, though, that Lillian’s mother had an old school way of looking at baby-sitting. The…
