On fight.

C. Strode, 2011.

The other week I walked outside the front door and sat on the stoop. Was on the phone, talking with my dad, back home on the farm, and figured I might as well try weeding, mainly since I was offended at the beds and heck, I was the man living here. So I start pulling […]

On Cuts.

Laundromat.

Just now, I was able to book an appointment with a barber I’ve never met, to sit in a chair I’ve never seen, to give him jurisdiction of my crown for 15 minutes. I will give him $25 and I will leave. It will have been a transaction of necessity and ease and I will […]

On a spring morning

Untitled - C. Strode

George often wondered how many people in the city realize how much the life of the great city meant to him and countless others like him; how, long ago in little towns down South, there in the barren passages of night, they listened to the wheel, the whistle, and the bell; how, there in the […]

On the line.

Middlebury, VT - C. Strode

When it would drop below freezing, the denim would become ice. My rec-league soccer shirt would stretch, pull at the collar, form a semicircle of crystals. Once I took a bat and swung at a frozen apron. It exploded. It was clean and it was red and it was in hundreds of pieces by the […]