Tough Guy Bobby Caduzo

“A little… light for a mob joint, isn’t it? I mean, watercolors? Artsy mirrors. Glass eggs in baskets? I thought we were here to meet ‘tough guy Bobby Caduzo.’ This don’t strike me as a place for no tough guys.”

“Hey shut your mouth, would ya? Show some respect. Bobby’s right over there.”

“Where? I only see the broad at the counter.”

“Bobby is the broad at the counter, stupid. Barbara Caduzo.”

“Sal, I’m in deep with these guys, man—how’s some chick supposed to help?”

“Heh. Tony, sometimes it’s real obvious you grew up without a mudda.” Read the rest of this entry »

Gaudi

I tried to give the form of nature to the works of man. The organic curve, the subtle softness—an answer to the harsh lines and right angles we use to distinguish ourselves from the beast.

The Segrada Familia, Park Güell, Casa Batlló: these were my life’s work.

Perhaps the world laughs at me now, struck by a tram and left to die in the street—literally a victim of the industrial age. But, if so, they misread these symbols.

For in my death I will reveal what man truly is: an object. Inert.

But a work of art. Read the rest of this entry »

Lighter Fare

Each evening I would find the ladder moved—and a book or two from the shelf displaced. Kant and Thoreau, Marx and Neruda; I would find them open on the floor, on the desk… by the cat bowl.

Naturally I became concerned, so I left work early and drove home, determined to catch the intruder in the act.

I entered quietly and climbed the stairs. Hearing a noise in the den, I prepared to pounce.

My gray tabby, Gary, met me with mild surprise, crouched by a first edition Dostoevsky.

“Got anything lighter, buddy?” he asked. “This stuff is murder.” Read the rest of this entry »