-
168 Publicações
-
0 fotos
-
0 Vídeos
-
Male
-
12/10/1971
-
Seguido por 0 pessoas
Atualizações recentes
-
The corner of seventhThe thing about Brooklyn is that nobody notices when it ends. Not because it ends loudly. Because it ends the way a neighborhood ends when the rent goes up too high and the bodega becomes a boutique and the bodega guy moves to Queens and the street where you grew up has a new name that nobody uses. Quietly. Systematically. Without anyone throwing a punch. Eliot Rosenberg lived on the corner of...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 0 Visualizações 0 AnteriorFaça o login para curtir, compartilhar e comentar!
-
The jazz of fading starsThe music was dying, and nobody wanted to admit it. Not in New York, where the music was everything. Not in Chicago, where the music was the only thing. And certainly not in Julian Ashford, who had spent the last five years composing jazz that made people dance because they were afraid of what would happen when the music stopped. It was 1925, and the city was drowning in its own prosperity....0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Zenith of SpiritThe New York of 1924 was a symphony of contradictions. On the surface, it was the era of the flapper and the jazz band, a glittering masquerade of champagne and gold. But beneath the sequins lay a profound, aching void—a generation of souls who had seen the world break in the Great War and had spent the following years trying to glue the pieces back together with gin and dance. Julian Vance was...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 0 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
Margaret cried at 2:47 PM on a Wednesday in April. She cried because I let her talk for forty-seven minutes without interrupting.I sat in my office — which occupies the third floor of a building that was once a law firm and is now, technically, a museum of law — and I listened. The Arbitration Engine could have resolved her dispute in three milliseconds. It would have analyzed the property deed, cross-referenced the Mars land use regulations, checked the synthesizer allocation records, and produced a ruling with 99.9997%...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Black Market of StarsI arrived on Earth on a Thursday. The humans called it a Tuesday in their local time zone, but my biology operates on a cycle of seventeen Earth hours, so I corrected for that automatically. My designation is X-7742. I am an Observer for the Concordance, a coalition of seventeen advanced civilizations that has existed for approximately four million of their years. My mission was simple: assess...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
V10 — Social Immuno-Rejection (社会免疫学/排异反应)## The Cook Who Did Not Belong — Post 23024 "The Girl in the Dark" ### Food/Cooking Theme | Victorian Yorkshire, 1848 ### Target: Western English Readers --- The immune system of Whitmore Hall detected Eleanor Whitmore as a threat on the day she learned to read, though it would take seventeen years to mount a full response. She was five years old, sitting at her mother's feet in the pastry...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 7 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
THE GILDED CANVASParis, 1924 — New York, 1926 Isabelle Moreau did not paint to please anyone. She painted because the colors would not stop singing to her, and if she did not answer them, they would tear her apart from the inside. Her studio in Greenwich Village was a converted attic that smelled of turpentine and damp plaster. The walls were covered from floor to ceiling with canvases—abstract compositions of...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 7 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Garden of HollowayThe Garden of Holloway ACT I: THE PALE GIRL The garden at Holloway House had not seen a bloom in three years. The roses were skeletons of themselves, their thorns sharp and black against the pale winter sky. The hedges had grown wild, forming impenetrable walls that enclosed a space that was, in the absence of beauty, something closer to a prison. Isolde Van Houten moved through the garden...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 7 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
ACT IThe Beauregard plantation looked like a dying animal: magnificent once, now skeletal, its ribs of white columns protruding through peeling paint like bone through rotting flesh. Elias Thorne stood at the gate and felt something he hadn't felt since Boston, something that was almost sympathy. He had come south as a Union intelligence officer, armed with maps and coded messages and a conviction...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 12 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
THE SIGNAL FROM LILY BRENNANThe office was on State Street, third floor of a building that smelled of boiled cabbage and old plumbing and the faint, sweet-sour smell of whiskey that seeped up from the bar downstairs. It was a small office—just a desk, a chair, a filing cabinet that stuck when you pulled the second drawer, and a window that looked out over a brick wall so close I could touch it if I leaned far enough out...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 9 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
The Choice of Jake SullivanThe heating in Jake's Brooklyn apartment stopped working on the coldest day of the year, which was either a coincidence or a statement. Jake preferred to think of it as a statement. It gave him something to be angry about instead of everything. He was thirty-one years old, half Black, half Irish, and entirely tired. He had dropped out of community college in his second year because his mother...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 10 Visualizações 0 Anterior
-
Sample V-01: The Last Ember of the North(Victorian Melancholy Style) The rain in Northern England did not fall; it lingered, a grey shroud that clung to the soot-stained bricks of the tenements and the skeletal remains of the cotton mills. Inside a damp cellar that smelled of mildew and old paper, Mr. Sterling lay upon a narrow cot. His breath came in ragged, wet rattles—the sound of a man whose lungs had become a battlefield for the...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
Mais stories