The Flesh-and-Blood Man of Steel

Every day, Jim Pignetti sees the past in the present. He can’t help but be reminded of the way things were because his business, Metalmen, is only four and a half blocks from the house he grew up in. He and his older brother lived there with their parents, their uncle and their maternal grandparents, who had come over from Sicily. The backyard garden had fig trees and a grapevine, and Jim used to deliver newspapers to the business at Metalmen’s address. He played Johnny Rides a Pony…

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The Play Mommy

A little boy in a bright red T-shirt rushes into the living room like Thomas the Train, singing and dancing himself silly until he collapses, hysterical, onto the coffee table. Sylvia Ramsaywak laughs her head off. This is her 7-year-old son, Jude, and this is his way of entertaining guests. As soon as Sylvia sits in the recliner, another little boy drops into her lap and presses his body into hers with a Teddy-bear hug. This is 3-year-old Jesse, and standing next to him is 10-year-old Jordan, giving…

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The ComiX Creator

It starts with a rape in outer space, but really begins in this earthly living room, where we find Shakespeare on the bookshelf,on the TV console and HamletMachine on the sofa. In the heat of battle, Cain, the dark fighter, forces himself on Abel, his pretty-boy virginal navigator. Their actions are determined by none other than the mighty HamletMachine, aka Michelle Palumbo. Michelle, a super-shy, self-effacing, self-described sci-fi nerd with a nose ring and a pair of chin piercings, created ,…

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The Flamboyant Fund-Raiser

Elena Kess is wearing 6-inch lizard-skin stilettos the color of a moonless midnight. She’s so high off the ground that she’s tiptoeing rather than walking across 30th Avenue. Even if you don’t notice the heels, you can’t miss Elena, who’s as bold as a chorus of exclamation points. Skin-tight black jeans lead to a flowing green blouse. She has a voluminous scarf tied voluptuously around her neck, and her ears are decorated with giant golden circles that peek through her…

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The Out-There Artist

Chris Bogia opens the door and cranks up ’60s rock on the radio. He likes to listen to music when he works in his studio. The art he does — gluing bits of yarn onto his paintings — requires a steady hand and a mindless head. The space is small, but the walls stand tall. They are gallery white. The floors are gunmetal-grey cement, and the skeins of yarn are stored in clear plastic containers neatly stacked on top of each other in a loft-like partition that he reaches with a ladder. A…

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