Author: ruhlwrite

Prominently positioned in the living room, there’s a recliner upholstered in corduroy the color of a Christmas tree. It’s right next to a framed poster of an Ansel Adams’ photo of Yosemite National Park. When Bob Koch walks in, Caesar, a benevolent Beagle with big eyes, is lounging in it. Up until Caesar’s arrival 2 ½ years ago, it was Bob’s chair. “Now, it’s our chair,” he says, squeezing himself around the dog, who gives him a sloppy kiss. Bob is…

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“Shoe Repair & Shine.” That’s what the sign says in big, snow-white letters. But it’s probably been there since Kennedy was president; no doubt the owner never bothered to update it. After all, who shines shoes any more? Open the old wooden door, and there’s Gonzalo Zhicay vigorously buffing the knee-high boots of a young woman as she sits on a wooden throne, her wedge heels propped up on shiny brass stands. There’s a rhythm to his work; back and forth,…

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It never would have happened if she hadn’t told that one little white lie. Betty Deudon can’t really be held responsible. After all, she was only a schoolgirl standing on the sidewalk by Long Island City High with a classmate when the handsome French sailors, their red-pomponed hats rakishly askew, strode by. “Let’s pick them up,” Betty told her girlfriend. She smiles at the memory. “I didn’t speak French, but my friend did, and when they asked me how old…

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Tigers and tiger lilies. Screaming skulls and beautiful butterflies. Dragons and devils. Jesus Christ and Chryslers. The Mona Lisa in a mustache. Andreana Verona flips through the images in the black loose-leaf book that holds her portfolio. The owner of Supernova Tattoo, she’s been a tattoo artist for nearly two decades. She’s inked everything imaginable. She has the body of a ballerina, a perky ponytail, a tiny rhinestone-studded labret below her lip, a demure silver flesh tunnel inside…

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Hey, man, it’s winter. The snow is stacked up like skyscrapers. What gives with the shorts and sockless Converse All Stars? Anthony Bendinelli — Tony to his friends, Anthony or Tony B. to his clients– is dashing through the sidewalk slush. He’s literally running an errand, so he doesn’t see the point of bundling up. And he’s quick to point out that he is, for heaven’s sake, wearing a cable-knit sweater and a knitted cap. Tony is a long-distance runner; a…

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