Category: Dart Etiquette
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Dart Etiquette – Ch. 17
I grabbed my camouflage army jacket, instead of my denim, which I had been carefully nurturing with the most perfectly placed patches. I pulled the hood of my black hooded sweatshirt up and threw the jacket on. I stepped into black suede pumas and stuffed my keys into the pocket of my jeans. Certain nights…
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Dart Etiquette – Ch. 16
Things had been problematic in my house for a while. I’d say by the time I got to Junior High school, specifically the summer before, I became more autonomous, more self reliant, and resulted in spending majority of my time at the park to avoid my house and my parents as much as I possibly…
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Dart Etiquette – Ch. 14
When I returned my father was perched in his withered recliner, paralyzed in his shriveling body and sleeping off the intoxication. Three inches of whiskey stood in a murky glass, sweating a ring amongst many rings on the wooden end table. He snored loudly while in the middle of a film, The Last Man On…
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Dart Etiquette – Ch. 13
The foundation of the house cracked slowly over the decades. The Craven brothers with some of the team had made some progress on the living room that day, despite being banged up and hungover. We polished off a bottle of whiskey and about a case of beer during the process. It helped with any pain…
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Dart Etiquette – Ch. 10
Mr. Craven pulled up to his house after putting in an honest day’s work, just as he did each week day and most Saturdays, for overtime he couldn’t refuse. He glanced at us on the front steps, shaking his head with disapproval, pulling up into the inclined driveway on the right side of the house,…
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Dart Etiquette – Ch. 9
Born and raised in Whitestone, the northernmost part of Queens. Zip code: 11357. Would there ever be a time where there was no longer a use for zip codes? Our friends were from various sections of the borough but the core of our group lived in this neighborhood, our parent’s houses scattered around, between…
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Dart Etiquette – Ch. 8
Maeve and I got to the house as the sun burned, torturing our once thriving green lawn into a dried up, yellow patch of scorched earth. We brought home greasy bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches on poppyseed rolls, wrapped in tinfoil from Cherry Valley. My father was in his usual spot, asleep and snoring on…
SEAN GABLER 