Category Archives: Frank Rasky

Even before he opened his eyes he felt the rosewood glowing in the dark. His room was so small it was as if he were living inside a guitar case, but it was a good place, quiet and out of … Continue reading →

Les Promenade des Anglais in Nice had been magnificent. Everything a young buck of a backpacker from Canada could’ve hoped for to satisfy his wanderlust. He had his own room overlooking Baie des Anges where topless beauties carpeted the beach. … Continue reading →

Boxing Gloves for when I get hit in the head. Mother Love for mother who bought the gloves so when I get hit, it won’t hurt so much. Broken Heart for when my love left me for being a dreamer. … Continue reading →

Are you there? It’s been so long since I had someone to talk to. Besides Oscar and Wilde, I mean. I feed them crumbs of bread. They’re my pet rats, my only friends. Besides you, of course. How kind of … Continue reading →

They slept in the same bed but that was all they had in common. He, an editor, had shelves filled with literary works and she, his wife of many years and never much of a reader, had strewn their apartment … Continue reading →

It’s a shame you’re so tall, he said. Too bad you’re so short, she said. She was a gorgeous 6-foot-tall blonde, and he was a love-smitten 5-foot-9. He was three inches from heaven. He launched his campaign. He sent her … Continue reading →