By Terry Wynne // Dusk had settled into the glass and chrome and cement cityscape. Harry had put in a solid day of writing advertising copy, meetings, preparing for presentations. As far as he was concerned, he had earned that pint of Guinness at Mulligan’s. He was on his way to meet two friends at the pub and turned left onto west 55th street towards Seventh Avenue. An amber tint spread across the front… See more
By Terry Wynne // Harry thought he would quietly slip out of the house for a pint or two at Yellowhook, the pub down the block. Unemployment checks were about to run out. Neither he, nor his wife and daughter had any insurance. Tough days in Brooklyn. Patrick O’Hara was standing at the bar, with a pile of one dollar bills before him. Patrick was the usher at Holy Angels church where Harry attended. He… See more
By Terry Wynne // The back-yard furniture lay strewn across the soggy lawn. Sheets of horizontal rain sprouted through the open screen windows. Harry’s pants and shirt were drenched as he slammed each window shut. Overhead, the tempest pressed downward, the storm roiling only a few hundred feet above. Lighting crackled, not from a distance, but from nearby, seeming a matter of a few hundred steps. He felt the woof of power leaking and then… See more
