Stocky with heavy forearms, Frank “hole-in-the-head’s” nickname derived from the thumb-like depression in his forehead, but I never heard anyone but Madge call him that to his face. In Ozone Park most Italians worked in construction, as garbage men, or were mobbed-up. The wad of cash Frank carried said, “Loan shark.” He spoke New York Italian. “Hey, Antonio, che si dice ?” My name’s Anthony. I wore my favorite street wear: a white, sleeveless Italian tee shirt that highlighted my...

Photo Source: Flickr Three weeks in, with the hope of sins forgiven, I hiked, occasionally encountering other pilgrims as we weaved the verdant, wooded, hilly paths of Camino de Santiago. With booted feet and hiking shorts, using a stiff staff for balance on rocky patches, I embraced the penance of aching shoulders caused by my weighty backpack where a Saint James’s attribute scallop shell dangled like a tiny sail speeding my journey. The Way of St. James would be an awfully long way to...

Photo Source: Public Domain Pictures My mind floated in the liminal space between dreams and death. An intense heat enveloped me, and I smelled the odor of rotten eggs. I recoiled as shadowy figures grabbed at me like licking flames. Oh God. No . Taloned, bony fingers dragged me down. I silently screamed as I fought to free myself, gasping in muggy air. Somebody, please help me. Suddenly, the spirits released me, slinking away as if dogs called off the hunt. My descent stopped,...