dreamszilla

Stephen and his friend Farrell take an ill-advised raft trip on the Hudson River. Image generated with OpenAI The bank below the ballfield was steep, and with the beach in sight, the two thirteen-year-old boys became impatient with their careful, sideways clamber down the steep embankment overgrown with weeds, which in some places were overgrown into trees. "Let's just slide down," Stephen said. They landed feet first on the blackish sand of the beach. An old raft made of plywood nailed to a wooden skid was lying upside down on the sand. The sand was streaked with oil and tar, and its smell was dank and dirty like a gasoline station. The river was lapping at their feet. The tide was high. Because of the pollution, all the parents told the kids not to swim in the river, but they still did, the river's power and mystery too alluring to keep them out. They lived in Dutchtown even though none of them knew anyone who was Dutch. "Oh, man," Farrell yelled, ...

Bob loves his job as bishop of Rottenburg-Stuttgart, but will soon be forced to retire; he visits an old friend for advice, and reflects on how he first became a priest. Image generated with OpenAI Bishop Bob bounded down the stairs from his living quarters to his office in the chancery office in Rottenburg. The building wasn't cheap, and in the twenty-first century, it was hard to justify the Church's spending money on architecture, but it made him happy to see that it fit in well with the medieval buildings in the downtown, pedestrian zone of Rottenburg. The architects managed to connect a building modern in style and substance to an older building and make the whole construction look aesthetically pleasing, a white-on-white that worked well. It was one of Bob's genuine successes, along with maintaining his health and staying in shape. With his thin, white hair, he probably looked his age, but he felt as energetic and young as he had been when he became bishop. All thin...

Set in 1973, Chris is an asset on the football field on account of his size, but when he reaches high school things get complicated. Image generated with OpenAI I was always big for my age. At birth, I tipped the scale at ten pounds, twenty-three inches. My poor mother. Growing up, I was usually the biggest kid in class - or at least top two. You'd think it gave me an edge. Sometimes it did. Other times, like when some older, undersized kid with a chip on his shoulder decided to beat me up just for being bigger - not so much. I was always picked first in basketball and football choose-ups. I was also the first of my friends to shop the Men's Department at John Wanamaker's. My feet were big too. Dad loved making the same dumb joke whenever we bought sneakers: "I hope you have some oars to go with those canoes! Yuk, yuk, yuk!" I'd been playing football as long as I could remember - loping across fields like a modern-day Paul Bunyan, tossing kids aside. I modele...