When I asked Florence what she wanted to do, if not go out.
"Listen to myself." What do you hear when you listen to yourself?
"Not much... weak and commonplace."
I tell her I will come visit her.
"First come by yourself so there's nothing in my way when I tell you how awful you are.... That's a joke."
"I have to work on it."
*Simon and Garfunkel
And how the room is softly faded And I only kiss your shadow, I cannot feel your hand, You're a stranger now unto me Lost in the dangling conversation. And the superficial sighs, In the borders of our lives.
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.