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.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Luckily I had my emergency-lunch-dinner-$20 on me so I could grab a taxi to rush home and get the forgotten keys to Florence's. The dashing driver and I talked about the decrease of taxi use and the possibility of driving a bus. He asked what I did.
"I'm an out-of-work writer."
"Oh! You can write about me."
So I took a picture and, handing him my card, told him to check the blog this week.
"I don't just drive a taxi." And he handed me his card. There, dashing smile and all was his picture on his real estate agent business card.
"You're like in the two worst professions to be in during a recession."
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.