A TREBLY, DEAFENING SCREECH COMES from a window above Union Street in Red Hook. “Jesus, God . . .” Thos Carmody looks directly above him at the woman with the shrieking voice that pierces the street traffic, splits his ears. “Stai attento. Ci sono uomini bianchi nascosti,” and looks down at Carmo...
For close on two weeks I remain inside and become a burden to my uncle Joseph who tells the truth about things with the drink in him. A scarecrow of a man with his spindly legs, bony hips, and hunching shoulders, he seems to have a right opinion about it all whether someone asks him for it or not...
