Stories written long ago; cannot remember writing them. I was fresh from graduate school and adventures in a foreign country. My mind was filled with the thoughts of greatness, and leaving a childhood in Flushing, New York behind to conquer the world! Then, I came back home, back as a writer of fiction, back to the same apartment in which I’d grown up. My father, an angry, out-of-work factory worker, was still the asshole, roared, drank, punched and ridiculed. While listening, I wrote, locked in a room, pounding keys of an old Olivetti. Soon, finished with a novel and story collection, I sent them out. I imagined Madison Avenue publishers congratulating themselves on finding the next genius, that is, until my manuscripts were returned with a form rejection. Crushed and embarrassed. What did they know! Manuscripts streamed out across the U.S., followed by rejection. Eventually, I got out, and found jobs as a writer in Corporate America. The stories in this book date from that time.
