The Shabbos Goy
I was a Shabbos goy.
A Jewish Shabbos goy.
The Racetrack
At the race tracks, my job was pretty simple, but potentially dangerous. A flat-bed truck delivered large heating and air-conditioning units to the site. A crane with a large boom was brought in, a big hook attached. The hook had to be put in the eye bolt which was fastened to the top of the unit.
A Venice Tale
Los Angeles. The sun - kissed taste of sandy freedom, smoggy alleyways and city tenements, stars, the heart of plastic grandeur, an American Dream personified.
I was holed up in a pad on Venice beach in between jobs. I had no furniture. It was after a break-up.
Dinners With Dead Gangsters — A Class War Notebook
Meanwhile in another house that capitalism built, the low-ceilinged “49er Bar” at the El Rancho Hotel in Gallup, New Mexico, local native dark-eyed women from the reservation gossip over sips of massive drinks at tables next to back-lit stained glass. The juke spins saccharine country in a loamy whisper while a stage, tidy and too well-lit for the rest of the place, bears a sign indicating that karaoke was just last evening. Absolutely nothing to do here but drink and be.
Jake and Caroline’s first date was at The Whistler. They talked about Ronnie, how much they loved The Diplomat, and debated the better ride-share service, Uber or Lyft. She was Uber, he was Lyft. They got wasted on Sazeracs and had sex at her apartment. It was incredible for both of them. Caroline stopped taking sex advice from Ronnie.