The Weather

Hey Kid

“…”   “Oh, hey there, pal. Is that Brendan I’m talking with here?”   “…”   “Brandon? They should call you Brando, you got such acting chops.”   “…”   “What? It’s me, kid, Maury. Maury…

Memoir

Take It or Leave It

The day my aunt Susan and I went to clean out my dead father’s house I woke up with a hangover that was worse than the one I had during my grandmother’s funeral, but not as…

LA Stories

Bakersfield

FICTION Blake crushed the can of his sixth beer into his fist and stood up. “I’ll get the car,” he said to Erica. She was only half-aware of being addressed, just as she had been only…

Memoir

Home Security

Watching TV one afternoon, Audrey and I were startled by a loud crack, like someone slapping the side of our house with a sheet of plywood, immediately followed by a motorcycle roaring away. Audrey got up…

LA Stories

Skatepunk Garrison Keillor

“It comes in waves,” Michael Silverblatt tells me. We’re standing next to the new releases section in The Last Bookstore in downtown Los Angeles, a former early twentieth century bank that has been ecstatically retrofitted into…