Christopher David DiCicco loves his wife and children, and sometimes, writing short stories, which he does in the attic of his Canal Street home, in ever-happening Yardley, Pennsylvania. His work has appeared in Nib Magazine's Flash Friday feature and is forthcoming in Intellectual Refuge and Sundog Lit. You can follow him on twitter or visit him at his website.
The Best Clay Pots In Town
an excerpt from the story
If these hands were hammers, I might make Amar cough up the money he owes me, or at least break his nose and tell him to stop fucking my wife.
The problem is that Amar—that all Amars—aren’t your average guy, and that my hands are soft. They’re soft like kittens, like the kitten I bought my son Yuri on his second birthday. I knew he’d love to have a little fur ball as a friend, especially while I was away, working, making the best clay pots in Algerson.
Trina never really understood why I would buy Yuri something to love if I wasn’t around to take care of it.
Kittens grow up to be house cats, and house cats kill what gets in through the cracks, I told her. It’ll grow up to take care of us.