Glare

Glare (2012). Watercolor on paper. From my book, Opening Acts and Other Stories, available at Amazon Books.

Excerpt – Happens every year. That first sunny and warm day in February, that false spring, is the one that captivates enough to distract everyone from the reality that this thaw is fleeting. Office workers head to lunch in shirtsleeves.College boys run to class in shorts.Dapper men of ambiguous means, unwilling to disrobe, unbutton their topcoats as they make thier rounds.

Carlo turned from an alleyway onto the sidewalk.The sun coming from the west blinded him. This happens often when a city’s street grid lines up just so. But no one ever gets used to the several seconds of sightlessness and glare, all while moving with and against the flow of pedestrian traffic. Shoulders bounce off one another, folded umbrelas get caught in briefcase handles, packages get knocked to the pavement.Sunglesses might help, but Carlo won’t wear them because they hide his green eyes. Of ambiguous utility is the shield of the gloved hand, which just exposes the elbow, and a strangers head, to damage. Still, the sun is welcomed in winter by everyone, and some tempt fate by closing their eyes and tilting their heads up, as if to catch a quick walking tan.

Carlo had only taken a few steps from the alley, so he was still blind when he heard the POP!

It was a backfire, some old car, but Carlo was jumpy. He’d had threats all week from the family of his ex. Now he remembered how one of her brothers used to make a sound like that backfire in grade school, by stomping on a closed but empty carton of cafeteria milk.

Carlo had started up with her for the same reason he chased the others – blinded by beauty. She was a stunner. He disregarded the instant notion that the exit from this one might be a little sticky. In addition to her clinginess, he has been shilling for the legit side of a guy that was opposed to her family, and her brothers knew this. Could get ugly.

Danny Grosso

Instagram @artipolitics and @altoegovintage

Amazon author’s page: amazon.com/author/dannygrosso

Mud People, No. 24

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Hardie Boy- Mud People, No. 24 (2020). House paint mixed with mud, on paper. From my book, 37 Mud People, available at Amazon Books. Artwork and text copyright Danny Grosso.

The Hardie boy is waiting for me. It is 9:14 am and I am already late. The Hardie boy is waiting for me in a place he is sure will allow him to be the first to see me. Leaning against the wooden display case, he has an unobstructed view of the double front doors as I swing them both open and scurry into the foyer. He sort of slides, like a skinny snake, up to me, really up to me, his face a few inches from mine. “Um hmm!” he says, accenting the second syllable with vigor. I try to say “What!” but nothing comes out – my voice is hiding itself – I haven’t spoken since the night before, or rather a few hours before, when it was still dark, and I ran home from the clubs to change clothes.

He is staring at me, only for a second, so I will look at him – he needs me to look at him so he can complete the gag. I do look up, laboriously – I’m bloodshot from the smoke, the drink, the lack of sleep. His crows’ feet spread into his temples. “Close your eyes or you’ll bleed to death,” he says, and then turns on his heel to go fetch me some coffee.

His time on a Mekong River gunboat made him hate tardiness. His time with me made him more accepting of those whose lives sometimes overwhelmed the need for punctuality. He was regimented about everything but me, sort of, but then, he seemed to accept it as his duty to make me laugh, constantly, Reveille to Taps.

He left too early, like a lot of people back then, chasing some demon he had seen before, one that woke him up on that gunboat in the middle of dark and hot jungle night.

-Danny Grosso

Instagram@artispolitics

Author’s page: amazon.com/author/dannygrosso

Neighborhood Royalty, No. 1

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This Guy (1998). Oil on Canvas. From my Book, Trouble is Trouble, available at Amazon Books. Artwork and text copyright Danny Grosso.

Excerpt:  “This guy, this guy over there says this thing is gotta get done, and I mean gotta. You get me? This is no joke no more, everybody’s fed up and it’s not good for anyone when the old mustaches get fed up, or even when they hear that everyone around them is fed up. It’s just no good to make waves, and this could be an ocean of ’em if you don’t take care of this thing.” Vince was agitated, walking faster than his normal stroll. He was making his point, making his plan, appointing the contractor. His walking partner hesitated to respond, eyeing the parking meters, then the van on the corner before Vince ushered him around the corner and into a storefront vestibule. “Look at me, Charlie,” he said, and waited to catch his eye. Then Charlie nodded, turned, and walked back to his Seville. He pulled a u-turn into traffic and sped away.

-Danny Grosso

Instagram @artispolitics

Amazon.com/author/dannygrosso