BALD PUNK

Stories

See The Light

(South Street – Photos by Joe) The five of us all gazed at a blue neon glow that was brightest by the Fish Market Restaurant on South Street. I shuffled my feet, blinked, squinted, and pretended to look real hard. Don’t know if the shuffling of the feet worked, but I did my best not to let on that I clearly saw what we all were searching for. The... [Read more of this story]

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Keeping Secrets

(South Street across from The Paris Cafe – Photos by Joe) “Where your treasure is, there will your heart also be.”                       Luke 12:34   – Believe me, I don’t give away all of NYC’s secrets. Especially those associated with that block of small brick buildings on South St. between Beekman... [Read more of this story]

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Milk Toast

(Wavertree sailing ship/South Street Seaport, NYC - Photos by Joe) At the South Street Seaport to meet my friends, I was aware a tall white guy had tailed me since I came out of the Fulton Street subway station that was a four block walk. To be certain, I moved away from the sparse, early evening crowd between South Street and the three-story mall... [Read more of this story]

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To Disappear Completely

(Barrow Street, Manhattan - Photos by Joe) A stranger named Ehrie with an East European accent had paid me a surprise visit on Barrow St. in the West Village. My friend Benny, “the cigar store Indian” had sent him to teach me how to “disappear.” Ehrie said it would enable me to avoid the attention of ghosts, demons, and... [Read more of this story]

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The Fine Art of Disappearing

(“Disappear” - Photos/Photo Art by Joe) I had told Benny, “the cigar store Indian,” about the elusive demon that whispers to me and the threat it had made on my life. Benny asked if there were places I usually heard its voice. I named Smith Street in Brooklyn, where the threat was made, and in Manhattan, South Street by the... [Read more of this story]

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Nowhere To Run

(Smith Street – Photos by Joe) Since I had witnessed Benny, “the cigar store Indian” kill a vampire last week behind the Lower East Side Pathmark, I have been tormented by a whispering voice. The first instance came moments after the cigar store Indian impaled the vampire whose name was Robert. The words came from a creature that... [Read more of this story]

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Death of a Vampire (or A Door Opens To A Dark Room)

(My work truck out front a Brooklyn jobsite – Photo by Joe) On the subway back to Manhattan I sat with a vacant expression, dog tired from a long day at a thankless job. Demolition, especially gutting the interior of an old walk-up, where plaster over wire mesh-and-lathe walls and ceilings were made to withstand Armageddon, is a miserable job. Add soot-covered insulation... [Read more of this story]

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To Kill A Vampire

(View from South Street Seaport Mall, 3rd floor – Photos by Joe) Twenty minutes had passed since I sat down with a decent cup of Joe and turned on my laptop. I was outside on the third floor deck of the South Street Seaport Mall. Just upriver was the much marveled, Brooklyn Bridge, and not far beyond it was the representative blue-steel, Manhattan... [Read more of this story]

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The Price Of Knowing

(Photo by Joe) We were at a cemetery late one evening last week and Benny, “the cigar store Indian,” had stopped to talk with an old woman who said her son Robert is a vampire. Now I’ve seen many odd creatures in my life, but I refuse to believe that there exist immortal fiends of the blood-sucking order. Yet when I spotted a hand rise... [Read more of this story]

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