Category Archives: Scotellaro, Robert

His Ink and Miss Atomic Bomb

by Robert Scotellaro

All his stories, he said, were written in his ink. (more…)

A Knife On the Bed

by Robert Scotellaro

Let’s say, the skateboarders were back again, scraping up and down the empty swimming pool next door. There was the sharp, skunky scent of pot in the air, and we were on the deck watching the lemons on the tree yellow.

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so much depends…

by Robert Scotellaro

We sat on a couch for wallflowers who sipped their drinks. She struck me as old-fashioned. Like she would have ridden a bicycle sidesaddle if she could. Outside, a blizzard banged at the windows. (more…)