Author: Frank J. Tassone

Deftly move through the day. Roll back from Bronx River bumper-to-bumper traffic, failing computers, and unprinted lessons. Stand shoulder-to-shoulder with H: face down a quarrelling Demba—and follow through. Negotiate 9th period alone at the...

The traffic is bumper-to-bumper south of Anthony Wayne Recreation Area. A five-minute drive to the first exit for Bear Mountain takes an hour. When we learn the park is closed, due to reaching capacity,...

Our niece Diane and her daughter Mialena join us for dinner. Mira serves us heaping portions of her Jambalaya, with a mixed-green salad and tomatoes on the side. A tangy aftertaste follows the first,...

All he needed to do was print his answers. But when he plugged his Alpha Smart into the printer and keyed the sequence to print, the device failed. We waited—in vain—for help from Astor’s...

I can’t remember how I met them. Or their names. They were college students abroad, like me. We rented bikes, toured the city and surrounding countryside. We visited the city square first, where the...

Belgian Saison, a lager served at a Suffern bar with an English pub feel and an American look. Brick-walled, with dark-salmon and mustard-yellow facades. Surrounded by poets, all writing. Do I feel like one...

The broom rests against the vinyl siding adjacent to the storm door. Its yellow bristles scatter out like unkempt hair from one side. A black foam guard overlays a gray plastic staff. Mira steps...