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Columns / Short Stories
Shep was always writing. . .

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June 1960

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Work in Progress



"Don't hold still for a minute. The birds of spring, mother, cast a short shadow. And like the shadows skim on and pass over the 59th Street Bridge in an instant and are gone. Gone, for crissakes, gone gone. They are on the way to That Great Street where a man once danced with his very own life... In the gloaming. To get lost in the potato peelinged coffee grounded cat peed rusty screened alleys of southside westside eastsideamerica. Seen by few mourned by none...


Copyright: 1960 Metronome Magazine