Philip Gaber > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

Phone rings, somebody on the other end wants to know when I'm coming to visit them.I'm so distracted I mutter, “Haven’t been myself lately..

From L.A. I ventured east to NYC where I worked part-time in a photographic lab, enrolled at the School of Visual Arts, majored in didn’t appl..

There were things that were said that night, but I don't really remember. I was either too drunk, too sleepy, or both. The only thi..

Samantha’s session with Dr. Bombay began a few minutes late. “Sometimes,” she said. “I go out in public without my gla..

“...because of a deeper grief which is peculiar to childhood and not easy to convey: a sense of desolate loneliness and helplessness, of being..

He was the Monday morning of human beings.The kind of guy who would confront you in a public restroom if you didn’t wash your hands or shooed yo..

The day after I barely graduated from high school, my father took me fishing.I didn’t really like to fish, but I had nothing else to do, so I fi..

Remember back in the day? A poet would write a poem, and it said something? Meant something? We could make sense of it. Explain its me..

My prose was flaccid, a little crass, and lacked clarityandstructure. My characters were about as developed as a third-world countryandmy analogi..

IWell, I was trying to stay on my hustle by working for this company that paid me to hold up a sign on the side of the road: “Store Closing! Li..