Out on the Tiles in Chelsea

Out on the tiles

I am driving around town in a very fancy white car top down. Think I’m in Chelsea, because of the tall brown town houses in courtyards with gated parks.

In my hand I have a broken golf ball, a tiny stone poking from one end that I can push back into the ball with my thumb. And when I squeeze the ball from the other side, the stone pokes back out. I play with it, pushing, squeezing. It could cause some damage, but the stone doesn’t want to propel from the ball no matter how hard I squeeze.

I could try to throw it.

Read more

Venturing Out From a Hotel in Afghanistan

Venturing out from a hotel in Afghanistan

Fabulous vignettes in Afghanistan. I am in a bland western hotel in the desert, white tiles, travelers milling about but I am bored, so I leave to walk around outside.

The landscape opens up with fantastic open spaces, green brush, Native American like cave dwellings below, inset in rock formations. The walls are carved with Arabic tooling, like the decorations seen on the window treatments of an ornate vizier’s home; an arch outlined with five half circles. Black and white dots fill the space between the outlines; each arch small with respect to the caves, but repeated horizontally, in sets of three, along light brown walls at floor level.

Miniature entrances to another world.

Read more

Chick Corea Tells Me How to Treat a Woman

How to treat a woman

I sit in a large overstuffed armchair, my leg draped over one arm, my hand draped over the other, and I graze my fingertips against the cool glowing dark skin of her shoulders.

She is young, slender, her hair cropped in short shiny Afro curls. I hesitate to touch her.

Read more

Going to the Interrogation Room for a Bruising

A Federal Bruising

We are in a large federal building, in a corridor, it feels menacing, before we are singled out and taken to the waiting room. As we enter, I see that the room is full, with people sat on two lines of plastic chairs on opposite walls, facing each other.

We take our place, and are waiting for a long time until finally a woman comes over to our seats. She singles me out as the spy and with my eyes closed she presses a flashlight against one of my eyelids. Are they trying to read my thoughts?

The woman says, you will have to come with me so that we can administer a bruising.

Read more

Strange Foot Treatment at a Beauty Parlor

Pedicure by Hagit Shaha

I won a prize beauty treatment.

As I sit down for my pedicure, in a small white living room, a man squares up in front of me and raises my naked left foot, puts it on his knee.  He takes a large dressmaker’s scissors and, starting from the bottom of my pant leg, he cuts vertically up.

Next to me, another man assures me I will like it.

Read more