an old writer and his words

  • SEOUL: A TALE OF TWO CITIES

    Namdaeman is a ghetto of shops and stalls, where men squat cupping cigarettes and gesture, their hands grasping stacks of bills, rocking on their heels until they leap up to a patron, asking this price or that, assessing the will of the buyer by the thickness of his or her wallet. An old woman sits…

    Lou Faber

  • APART TOGETHER

    It is this time each night that I think of you lying in bed, your head pressed deep into your pillow your chest rising and falling to an unheard beat. I reach out for you and grasp the blanket of the hotel bed and imagine it is your back as I trace my finger down…

    Lou Faber

  • REFLECTIONS ON A FATHER NEVER KNOWN

    The sun is obscured by half-lidded eyes.  We are standing together on a small beach.  Twenty toes are curled in the wave packed sand.  We are in Cascais, or perhaps Estoril. The waves spread their foam capped fingers through the rocks and cradle us.  He wants to drive down the coast, to see the boats…

    Lou Faber