Acerbic writing style. I had the weirdest reaction when I read the following flash fiction. It was like eating an aged-cheese omelet with balsamic vinegar — tasted weird, but in a good way. Anyway, I kept eating (re-reading).

By Iris N. Schwartz Gone one week. This was my neighborhood ─ but wasn’t. Sniffed sautéed emu. Spotted sparkling litter on swept streets. Not my apartment building ─ though keys fit. Facade cleaner, neighbors thinner. Superintendent … chipper! Crossed Broadway. Belgian pizzeria: crust panko crumbs, pommes frites; corners: nine-dollar lunch trucks. In Quonset diner, sat […]

via Gentrification —