The Sketch Book — impossible story

An Impossible Story, Chapter 5


Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home... as long as home happens to be in Nolita.

So. When I left you, things were looking up. We were walking on the sunny side of the street. The bedbugs were gone. The wedding gown was fitted. The apartment was cleaner than the surface of the sun. All was calm on the western front. Or so it seemed.

Turns out, there was a problem. Can you guess?

Yes, it is couch related. Or lack-of-couch related to be more accurate. Yes, we’d...


An Impossible Story, Chapter 4

Chapter 4 is brought to you by the month of July. Don't forget there's still time to get the 2014 calendar and enjoy it for half the year at half the price!

As you will recall, from Chapter 3, The Packtite was locked inside and I was locked outside of my apartment.

It was 2 pm, my fiancé wasn’t due home from his office in New Jersey for another five hours and even if he left right now, he wouldn't make it back in less than an hour. And even if...


An Impossible Story, Chapter 2

hell hath no fury like a woman with bedbugs…

When my fiancé returned that evening, the scene he entered into was one of sheer annihilation. I was the focal point of this scene.

He had just unsuspectingly walked into a frenzied eighth circle of hell, bursting with unlabeled, bulging black trash bags filled with everything in no apparent order and I was at the center of this tornado, sweating, clutching a wad of more black trash bags lunging at piles of unregulated mess ferociously. The majority of our books, our...


An Impossible Story, Chapter 1

 

 

Are you ready for chapter 1? remember as you read the coming posts, i warned you, this story is shocking at times, you may be tempted to think “this can’t be real”

but my friend, it is very very real…

This story begins, as so many great works do, with a party. A lovely party at an Upper East Side club overflowing with shrimp cocktail and conversations about how small the world is.

At the witching hour, when in the wintery darkness of five pm, we party guests all decided via...


An Impossible Story, Preface

  

Why is this man sleeping partially on a chair, partially on a Threshold for Target tufted bench?...

You know those people? The ones you see once a year or once every six months, by chance, passing on the street? Their hair is uncombed, their eyes unfocused, perhaps a tendon in their neck or two is straining a bit unnaturally...

You hug and exclaim over how nice it is to run into them and then the conventional progression of all conversation in the western world leads you to the inevitable first question,...