A My Private Coney project Flash non-fiction, brief moments and old memories of a city and mother's emotional and physical real estate disappearing at the speed of heartbreak.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
If Victor / Victoria Was A Diner...
It's a diner pretending to be a restaurant pretending to be a diner. But everyone goes there. The cops with their cute tushies wiggle-waggling their guns and night sticks, the sober table of sober men murmuring and eating and sipping many coffee cups and then like Catholic boys at their first mixed dance, checking out any woman going to the bathroom, the two gay guys with great plates of fried foods (I thought the middle age one was cruising me until he reached over and tongue kissed his boyfriend for about five minutes), several fathers with enthusiastic little daughters ("I have NEVER in my ENTIRE life been here at night, Daddy.") and our table's favorite, especially after a long discussion of how Sophie Loren could have done that to her face, a woman probably as old as Sophie Loren, but with a face that still sings every moment of her life, framed by bright red, teased hair that still claims pride and delight in her girlish sense of style.
MY PRIVATE CONEY presents IT WAS HER NEW YORK, the short stories that accompany the work-in-progress video and photo collection of the same name (myprivateconey.com - media link - IT WAS HER NEW YORK). The stories and the media explore the tender rubble that holds both my mother, Florence's and New York's soul as one disappears into old age and the other into gentrification. All are real observations and/or experiences with very little tall-tale telling.
Except when it makes the story better.
Please visit myprivateconey.com for additional information and sample works.