Author Archives: Jonathan Berger

Looking back, yesterday is pale. Yesterday is hazy. Did I dance yesterday? Did I fall? Please help me remember any crimes of my past that I might have forgotten in the face of their antiquity. I seem sore. What did … Continue reading →

If I hear that kind of language from you again I will beat the living shit out of you. Do you hear me? I will fucking tear your head off and then begin to skullrape first one part then another … Continue reading →

I have been wanting to be a storyteller since fourth grade when Mrs. Takagi had first called Jonah Kaplan the class poet. Since that role was already taken, I opted for the more general title of writer. Perhaps I could … Continue reading →

The noises upstairs distract me from Beatles For Sale on the stereo. It has been eight days, over a week since the neighbor passed and her family has come to sort through her stuff and see what there is worth … Continue reading →

“Carl’s queries.” Huh. Hey, that sounds like the idea for a real work of art. Why don’t you get on that, you little work-of-art-maker? Just take the concept I spent a second or two rubbing out and put it into … Continue reading →

For years I feared the smell, that after too many days silence I’d have to call the police or the fire folk or emergency services and have them break down the door to see what had happened to my neighbor. … Continue reading →

This is probably a good thing. I will have a chance to think things over to take a step back to review my mistakes and consider future opportunities. This is going to be excellent. I’ll finally be able to take … Continue reading →

She told me to check the weather and I said I can tell what to wear just by looking outside. She seemed doubtful. I said trust me. I know which way the wind blows. Her look suggested something different. Seeking … Continue reading →

Dottie was really prejudiced. She didn’t care for those kind of people which is difficult for a longtime resident of Fort Apache, the Bronx. Despite her bigotry she found space in her heart for the dozens of black and Latin, … Continue reading →

How to tell the neighborhood? All the people that passed used to know her. Who would want to know she’s gone? She’s cremated. She didn’t want a service. She didn’t want anyone to know but she can’t be so easily … Continue reading →