by Levi Smock
On muggy summer days in Missouri, a gang of pre-adolescent hellions who’d dubbed themselves the Marion Street Kids would take to the woods for shady relief and adventure. Every creek was a river to be forded. Every downed tree was a fort waiting to be constructed. We raided our parents’ toolboxes, found scraps of lumber, and fashioned crow’s nests out of stray branches. …
by Dulce Vasquez
A couple times a week, I, like 5 million people worldwide, head to my local corporate coffee joint. I love the Starbucks on the corner of Wilshire and Union near downtown L.A. The baristas all know me by name, the cashier has long since memorized my order, and they all take turns adorning my grande latte cup with smiley faces, stars, and hearts. Plus no one there has ever misspelled my name—unlike the barista on Fairfax who called me “Tulsa.” I attach relevant exhibits. …
by Catherine Mangan
Treasures. Thousands of them. Rows, shelves, hooks, nooks, closets, rooms, and corners full of treasures. I always knew I had an addictive personality. My veins bleed 12 steps and amends, but not for this dependence. I got off easy. I’m obsessed with one man’s junk. …
by Lauren Alejo
“The Secret Garden was what Mary called it when she was thinking of it. She liked the name, and she liked still more the feeling that when its beautiful old walls shut her in no one knew where she was. It seemed almost like being shut out of the world in some fairy place.” —Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden …
by David Gershwin
The pipe organist has slowly, dramatically descended back into the floor and out of view, while two giant rodents scamper mischievously onstage, tugging at the soon-to-be-parted curtains. Our 3 1/2 year-old daughter shrieks not in horror, but with pure, exalted delight. …
ArticlesFeuilletonFriday, December 3, 2010 How One Family Created Chinese America
PoetryThis week in L.A.From the green room
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