James P Higgins's Page

I was trolling through Los Angeles on a crowded Red Line commuter just after dawn, looking for trouble. Five rows ahead, facing me, a snowy-haired man sat on the aisle. His tiny eyes flickered under frowning bushy eyebrows, then closed. He panted open-mouthed, slack-jawed. Thick pink folds of his neck disappeared into the grimy open collar of a worn-to-translucent shirt that had once been light brown. He wore the sweat stained brim of his green logoless cap flipped up like a challenge, or a joke… Continue

Brother Cuscraid raised himself from his knees and shuffled from the tiny chapel, the third of twelve silent monks walking into the summer dusk. This simple transit done at each day’s end for five decades had become a meditation. Cuscraid counted his steps as they passed along the abbey wall towards their separate cells. What had been forty-nine paces in his novice years had lengthened with time to sixty-one. His eyes followed the familiar lines of mortar between the pathway stones as his heels… Continue

With a minute left on the game clock, the Bradford Middle School Pirates were crushing their cross-town rivals, the Palmertown Peewees, 48 to 12. Second-string quarterback Francis Quinn leaned forward on the bench, eyes glued to the action. Around him other Peewees were guessing what dismal headline would appear in tomorrow's Palmertown Postulator.

"Peewees Puke," said one.

"They can't say 'puke' in the paper," said another.

"They say whatever they want," said the first.

Bradford Middle Scho… Continue