Michael Domino's Blog

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My assigned seat was 4C. I paid a bit more for that one for its extra legroom.

Two rows back I noticed row six had no seated passengers so I asked the flight attendant if I could move. She said, “Sure but you paid extra.”

I said, “Thanks but I’d rather spread out.”

Photo by Guillaume Normand http://bit.ly/1FDcEtN

Before we left, a woman in a neat blue blazer boarded and introduced herself as The Executive VP of Customer Relations for the airline and will be joining us and we will all play Seat Bingo for a prize.

As we approached LaGuardia she got back on the PA to play Seat Bingo and called out two seat numbers  – 1B and 6C, the lucky winners. 6C was the seat I had moved to!

The flight attendant who I was very nice to during the flight, for some reason, ratted me out and announced to the VP that my real seat is 4C. Standing too close to the MIC, the plane could all hear her comment.  We waited for a ruling.

The Big Boss in the blue blazer quickly retorted, “It doesn’t matter. He’s in the seat so he wins 30,000-bonus point or a free round-trip ticket.”

I’ve been very lucky lately playing games.

Maybe I should use my winning Seat Bingo tickets for a trip to Las Vegas?

–Michael Domino

© 2015

Filed under: Short Stories Tagged: contest, flight, laguardia, mike domino, prize, short story

Dear Friends,

The authors reading event February 27th, hosted by Inspired Word NYC at Le Poisson Rouge in Manhattan was a truly an amazing experience.

Thank you to all the writers, readers, the audience, and the great people at Inspired Word NYC who support authors. Without your support, and Mike Geffner and his team’s hard work, the success of this special event would not have been possible.

Be sure to visit the Inspired Word NYC website to view upcoming events at: http://inspiredwordnyc.com/.

Thank you again for your support.

If you were unable to join us last night, I’ll be visiting again in June 2015 and I hope to see you then!

Kind regards,

Mike

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Dear Friends,

The authors reading event last night hosted by Inspired Word NYC at Le Poisson Rouge in Manhattan was a truly an amazing experience.

Thank you to all the writers, readers, the audience, and the great people at Inspired Word NYC who support authors. Without your support, and Mike Geffner and his team’s hard work, the success of this special event would not have been possible.

Be sure to visit the Inspired Word NYC website to view upcoming events at: http://inspiredwordnyc.com/.

Thank you again for your support.

If you were unable to join us last night, I’ll be here again on June 2015.

Kind regards,

Mike

https://www.facebook.com/groups/InspiredWordNYC/

MichaelDominowriter.com

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Offering free admission to this event for the first 5 people to write dominolyrics@gmail.com, with “Free Tickets to the Reading” in the subject line.

Filed under: Announcements Tagged: announcements, author, book signing, inspired word, nyc event, open mic

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: author, book reading, book trailer, new york stories

Meet author Michael Domino at The Gallery at LPR, February 27, 2015 @7pm. He’ll be sharing excerpts from his collection of essays, short stories and poetry. His latest book is Park Avenue to Park Bench - a book of true New York stories. The Gallery at Le Poisson Rouge is located at 158 Bleecker Street, New York, NY 10012. (212) 505-3474. #booksigning #spokenword. http://inspiredwordnyc.com/

Filed under: Announcements Tagged: author event, book signing, live event, nyc, open mic nyc, poetry reading

For a limited time we are offering free ebooks of Park Avenue to Park Bench and Time to Pay the Rent.

Submit your reviews to Amazon and/or Goodreads and get a bonus – digital copies of Loud Whispers and Cadillac on the Bowery. Contact dominolyrics@gmail.com to get more details

Filed under: Announcements Tagged: amreading, announcements, author, book, book announcement, book review, cadillac on the bowery, creative writing

The Bicycle Man of Berlin

 

Black-and-WhitePostcards

 

’dbeeninBerlinforthreedaysandhadn’tseenasinglecloudinthe sky.Eachdaywassunnyandwarmandperfectlysummerlike,un- usualforlateSeptemberinGermany.Onlytheleavesonthetrees hintedofacoolerautumntocome,withjusttheslightestofcolor changes,fromgreentogoldandyellowandspecksofbronze.TheBer- linMarathonhadjusttakenplaceover theweekend, andtherewasstill afestivefeeltothecity,thestreetsbusywithpeopleintownforthe race.Theyweren’tallGermans. Iheardmanylanguagesbeingspoken:

Italian, Spanish,andEnglish.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Itwas Monday, andBerlinwasgettingbacktonormal.Workers weretakingdownmetalbarriers alongtheracerouteanddismantling foodstallsthathadsoldbratwurstrightoffthegrill,withsteaming krautandcool cucumbersalad,anddrinkstandsthathadoffereddark German beerandwineacrossfromtheBrandenburgGate,atthemara- thonfinishline.Thatday,Iaroselateanddidn’tgetastrong,dark

 

 

 

coffeeandcroissantfromthecaféacrossthestreetfrommyhotel,a new MarriottinthePotsdamerPlatz section,untilalmostnoon.

ThePotsdamerPlatzoftodayhasamodernundergroundtrain stationand comprisesthe centralpart ofBerlin’s newesttowers.

Nearby,theall-glassSonyCenterandtheDeutscheBankbuilding riseprominentlyabovenewhotelsandsleek,distinctivelymodern

officebuildingsoftintedglassandglimmeringmetal.Butbefore the fallofCommunismin1989,PotsdamerPlatzhadthemisfortuneof

beingsituateddirectlyinthepathofthefour-hundred-yard-wide no man’slandoneithersideofEbertStrasse,wherethenewtrainsta-

tionisnow,andnorthtowardtheBrandenburgGateabouttwomiles away.InthemiddleofthisdesertedareastoodthemenacingBerlin

Wall,an areathatsomecalledthekillingzone.Itwaspatrolledby soldiers, someofwhomhad dogsso ferociousthat onlywomen

couldhandlethem,astheyweretrainedtoattackmenonsightand killthosetryingtoescapeover,under,orthroughthewalltofree-

dominWestBerlin.

Souvenirstands alongthesidewalkswhere the walloncestoodsold

black-and-whitepostcardswithscenesfromWorldWar IIandtheCold War.From thesesmallpictures,Icouldseehow differentitwasthen, withbarbedwireandrusted,steel-beamcrosses sunkdeepinto theflat, barren,grasslessground,justincaseany daringEastBerlinertriedto break through thewallbycarortruck.Atthesestands,IsawoldRus- sianuniformsandGermanDemocraticRepublic(GDR—East German) soldiers’hatsbeingsold,alongwithotherremnants of theCommunist army that patrolled the wall around Potsdamer Platz years ago. I wantedtowalkandfindmoreevidence of thewall,buttheentirearea lookednothinglikeithadwhenthepostcard pictures weretaken. YetI couldfeelthe ghostlypresenceofthe BerlinWall.

FromPotsdamerPlatz,Icouldjustbarelyseepart ofthe Quadrigaof

Victory, the copper statue that majestically crowns the top of the

BrandenburgGate,thespiritualheartofBerlin,wherethewallfellin

1989.Thestatue,originally createdin1793byJohann Gottfried Schadow,originallydepictedthewinged goddessofpeace,Eirene,driv- ing achariotpulledbyfour horses.Napoleontookthe statuein1806, but in1814,itwasreturnedaftertheGermanvictory overFrance.Eirene thenbecameVictoria,the goddessofvictory,withtheadditionofaPrus- sianeagleonan ironcross.Later,the gatebecamea symboloftheThird Reichwhenthe NazistookcontrolofGermany.Finally,afterGermany’s reunification,VictoriaonceagainbecameEirene.

 

 

 

JustbeyondthegatewasthecleardomeoftheReichstag building, theseatof governmentinBerlinandwhereAdolfHitlerandtheNazis seizedpowerin1932.Kaisersandkings, conquerorssuchasNapoleon, andthosedefeated,suchastheThirdReich,allpassedthrough the BrandenburgGate,enteringinvictoriousgloryorleavingindefeat, the proudcity inruins.

 

 

 

 

BlocksandFloors

 

Thehundred-mile-longBerlinWall wasbuilttostopEastGermans fromgoingwesttofreedom andnewlivesinothercountries.Afterit wasknocked downin1989,mostofitliterally disappearedintothe pocketsoftheGermanpeople,EastandWestBerliners,whowantedto keepapieceofthewallforthemselvesortosell.Withtheexceptionof a fewsmallsectionsnowpreservedasmuseumpieceswherethey originallystood,mostof thewallisgone,andtheareaisnowisbeing developedintocommercial sections,roads,parks,memorials,andresi- dentialhousesand apartments.

BecausetracesoftheBerlinWalldisappearedatan alarming rate,a law waspassed mandatingthat whereverthe walloncestood,the ground wouldbemarked minimallybyadoublerowofBelgiumblocks laidintheasphaltofastreetorconcrete sidewalk,throughparkinglots andgrasslandandparks.Ifabuildingwereconstructed overground wherethewalloncestood, thanthe ownerofthebuildinghadtomark the wall’s routebychangingthe color oftheflooring.If,forexample,a restaurantfloorwasdarkoak,awoodnoticeablylighterincolorhadto beinlayedintheflooringtomarkthecontinuationoftheBelgium- blockpath thatterminatedoutsidethebuilding.Thetrailofblocks on theoppositesideoftheproperty wouldthenpickupthepathonthe othersideof thebuilding. Ifcarpeting,ceramictile,orvinylflooring wereused,the color must alsochangealongthe path.

Iinvestigatedhowwellthelawwasenforcedbytrackingthewall

onfootuntil Iactuallybumpedintothesideofabuilding on Ebert Strasse.Ithenenteredasmallrestaurantandfollowed thewall’spath undertablesthatwerebeingsetup forthe evening’sdinnercrowd.

Aspeoplecasuallydinedintherestaurantthatnight,Iwondered

howmany,ifany,wereawareof theghostsof theBerlinWalldirectly beneaththeir feet. ThepostcardimagesI had seenearlier—barbed

 

 

 

wire,guard towers,andGDRsoldierspatrollingwithrifles—moved throughmymind,superimposedon therestaurant,whereeveryonewas welcomeandsafe,wherethelegsofpatrons’chairsandtablessaton theblondwoodstripethatwastheonlyreminderofthelong-gonewall.

 

 

 

 

Thataway?

 

NowthatIhadgottenmybearingsastothephantom BerlinWall andwhich sideofithadbeenWestBerlinandwhichhadbeenEast Berlin,Idecideditwas timetoseethefineoldpalaces,monuments, universities, andcathedralsalongUnterdenLinden StrasseandKarl- LiebknechtStrasseinold EastBerlin.

AfterI’dbeenwalkingforlessthanfiveminutes,abicycletaxi

pulledpastmeandmovedovertothecurb toletapassengerexit.It looked like asmallchariotpulledbyabicycle.

The white-haired bicyclerider, who lookedtoo old for such a strenuousjob,appearedtobeinhismid-sixties.Hisround-rimmed

eyeglassesand thinness didn’tmakehimlookanymoreathletic.His passengerwasawomanwhoslowlyclimbedout.Shealreadyhadher

walletoutandunfolded, anditheldadecentamountof euros.They spokeGerman,andthenshe paidhim.Thecyclistwasthinand wearing

along-sleeved,V-neckedwoolpulloverthatseemedtobefartoowarm fortheunseasonablyhottemperature.ThenIrealizedthatthesweater

didn’tconcealthatthoughhewasthin,hewasfitandwiry.Theshorts heworeshowedtight,hard,tannedthighsandcalfmusclesthatwere

strongandsinewy,rightdowntohisankles.

IhadalreadydecidedtowalkthemileorsototheBrandenburg

Gate, but something about the bicycle and its not-so-young rider

changedmymind.Asthewoman walkedawayafterpaying,Ientered the cabfromthe oppositesideandsaid,“Doyou speakEnglish?”

Hewasperchedonthebicycleseat,onelegsupportinghisweight on thegroundandtheotherfootrestingon theraisedpedal.Heturned

andsaidoverhisshoulder,withaGermanaccent,“Ja,ja,alittlebit. Justenough,Ithink.”Hemadeacommongesturefor“alittlebit,”

holdinghisthumbandindex fingerbarelyapart, asifdisplayingasmall gemoracoin.A littlebitwasenough forme,andaslongasIwaspay-

ing himtopedal,alittlebitwouldbeenoughforhim. “Sowheredoyouwantto go?”heasked.

 

 

 

“I’mnot sure.Just that way,towardtheBrandenburgGate,or maybepast the gatetothe Reichstagbuilding,”Isaid.

“Youdon’tknowwhereyouwanttogo?”Heseemedpuzzled.

I’dbeguntorealizeduringmystaythatBerlinerswantprecisein-

formationandinstructions.

“Well,I’vebeenwalking around Berlinallmorning,andnowIjust

wantaride—tosithereandgothatway,”Isaid,tryingmybestto speak clearlyandslowly, tobeunderstood. YetIstillsensedthathe wantedamoredefineditinerary.BecauseIhadnoclear-cutaimin mind, other than “thataway,”he cleverlyswitchedthe negotiations fromafocusondestinationtoafocusonthe amountoftravelingtime.

“Itellyou,”hesaid,speakingslowly,loudly,andclearly.“Forfifteen

euros,Idriveyouforthirtyminutes.Thanifyouwanttogetout,youget out.Ifyouwantmetorideyoumore,Irideyoumore.Youdecide,ja?”

“Ja,ja.Okay—goodidea.Let’sgo.”Imotionedhimforward.

 

 

 

 

Where HasItGone?

 

Thebicycleman stoodup andpressedhardontheraisedpedalwith hisleftfoot.Thiswasthe only timeIsawhimstrain,asheneededen- ergytobreaktheinertiaandgethistaxigoing.

Wewereon EbertStrasse,astreetthatconnectsPotsdamer Platzto

theBranbenburg Gatetothenorth.Everythingonitlooksnew,being builtaftertheBerlinWallcamedown.Itmightonlyhavebeen afew hundredmeterswide,buttoGermansinthe1960s,’70s,and’80s,it wasaswideanddeepandperiloustocross asthe AtlanticOceaninthe deadofwinter.

Asthe bicyclebegantopickup speed,Ilookedto myleftandsawa

heavilyforestedarea,thebeginningoftheTiergarten, theCentralPark of Berlin.Tomyrightwasthetwo-acremazeof twothousandlarge, smooth,graystoneblocksoftherecently completedHolocaustMemo- rial.Ihadlearnedearlier,on aguidedwalkingtour,thatapproximately twohundredyardsawayfromthehauntingmemorialisasmallpatch ofgrassanddirtthatliesbetweenaparkinglotforagroup ofSoviet- styleapartmentbuildingsandasidestreet.Fortyfeetbelowthegrade on thisunmarked,ordinaryspot oflandlay theremainsofHitler’sfor- tifiedbunker,wherehespenthisfinaldayswhileBerlinburned around him,andwhereheultimatelycommittedsuicide.Thebunker’sloca-

 

 

 

tion,thought tobelostforever,wasdiscoveredaccidentally by some roadworkersdiggingtrenchestolay undergroundpipeinthe1990s.A fewyearsback,German engineersattemptedtodemolish thebunker withmassiveexplosivecharges,butitwasprotectedbyspecially for- mulated,reinforced concretewallstwentyfeetthick.Thewallswould notcrumble,sothey dugahugeholearoundthebunkerandfilledthe entireareawithfreshconcrete,effectivelysealingthebunkerina tomb thatGermany haspledgednottounearthforanotherforty years.The hiddenbunkersitesymbolizesBerlin’sstruggle tocometoterms with itswartimeactions:Shouldittocontinuetoburyandforget,orshould itrevealandunderstand?

TheearlyafternoonsunwarmedmeaswebegantoglideupEbert

Strasse.Amoreinteresting placetobeintheworldatthatmoment,I couldnotimagine.TheBrandenburg Gatelay directlyinfrontofus. Throughthegate,totheeast,alongUnterdenLindenStrasse,we wouldseethegrandpalacesof theKaisersandHumboldtUniversity, whereEinsteinstudiedandtaught.Furtheron,acrosstheriverSpree,is Alexanderplatz,withitsornatearchedbridgeand six whitemarble stat- ues,eachonesignifyingadifferentstageof thelifeofAlexanderthe Great. There arecathedralsandtheBerlinOpera House,whichmiracu- louslysurvivedthedevastatingbombings ofBerlinwithbarelyabrick knockedoutofplace. Tomyleftwasthe Tiergarten,withitswidelawn leadinguptomagnificentstatuesandwindingpathways,andthento myright,justpasttheHolocaustMemorial,werethestately embassies ofGreatBritainandthe United Statesandmanyfineshops,hotels, and restaurants.

Despitethe grandsurroundings,Icouldn’tshakethe realizationthat on thiscalm,beautiful Septemberday,Iwasbeingtaxiedacrossland wheretheinhumaneBerlinWalloncestood.Howcouldcars,buses, andtaxicabslookso ordinaryastheyzippedpastthisplace?Howcould somanypeoplenonchalantlywalkandshopandscurryhomefrom workthroughthiszoneofpasthorrors?

“Excuseme!”Icalledtomycourier. “Ja?”

“Whereexactlywasthe wall?” “TheBerlinWall,ja?”

“Yes, theBerlinWall.”

“Lookthereinthemiddleofthestrasse,”saidmydriver,whonow

seemedtobespeakingEnglishbetter thanjustalittlebit.“Youseethe bricks inthestreet,ja?Thisplaceiswherethe wall was.”

 

 

 

“Yes, Isee.”

“Iwillwaitforno cars,andthenI’llrideyouto the wall.”

“Gute,”Isaid,usingmyoneGermanword.

Whentrafficcleared,thecyclistquicklypedaledfromtheright

shoulder,wherewehadbeenslowly cruisingalong,directlyintothe middleofEbertStrasse.Hesteeredthefronttireofthebicyclebetween thetworowsofgraybricks where theBerlinWall oncestood.Hefol- lowedthemortaredgroovebetweentheblockslikeatrainontracks, the bicyclebumpingalong.

“SonowweareridingontheBerlinWall,ja?”Hedroveusfora

shortdistancealongthewall’spath.Then,lookingpartially overhis shouldertomakesureIcouldhearhim,hecalledout:“Totheleft, WestBerlin.Totheright,EastBerlin.”

“Wheredidyoulive?”Icalledback over the whooshoftheairand

the backgroundsoundsofBerlin.

“IlivedinEastBerlinsince1952, beforethe wall,andthenthe wall

wentupin1961.Thenin1989,thewall camedowninoneday.Itwas November 9,1989,justlikethat,ja.Thewallisgone,ja,today.ButI ridethewalllike thistotellmymind,ja,that thewall isgone,so the wall insidemecangoaway,too.”

“Amazing,”Ireplied, bemused.

Hewassoright—eventhoughthephysicalwallhasbeenreduced

toarowof harmless-looking Belgiumblocks,itstill existsinthecon- sciousness ofthosewholivedwithit.Whatastrangelifeitmusthave beentohaveseenitdailyand coexistwithitforallthoselongyears.So IhadcomelookingfortheBerlinWall andfounditinaplaceInever expected,inthemindsandsoulsandmemoriesof Berlinerslikethe bicyclemanandmillionsof otherswhohadwatchedthewallgoup, livedthrough thehorrible divisionsinfamiliesthatitcaused,andwere theretoseeitcomecrumblingdownsuddenlyand withoutwarningone afternoon.Aftertwenty-eightlong,hardyears,allthecheckpointswere opened,andthewallfell,beginningatBrandenburgGateandcontinu- ingonforahundredmiles,thecrumblingspreading asfastasawild brushfireinawindstorm.

“Here,letmeshowyou,”saidthebicycleman. Hebecameplayful, seemingyoungerthanhisyears.Heactedmorelikeakidonajoy ride aroundhisneighborhoodthananentrepreneurprovidingataxi fortour- ists.Hestoodhighashepedalednowandgotup afullheadofspeed. Suddenly,thebicycleveeredoff thenarrowcourseofthewall,sharply swervingtotheleftacrossthebricklineandontotheasphaltpavement.

 

 

 

Mybodytilted withtheabruptturn,andIheldontothesidesofthecab toabsorbthesway.

“See?NowwearefreeinWestBerlin,ja?”

Andthenjustassuddenly,heswervedthebicyclehardtotheright,

thistimecrossingovertheBerlinWallmarkers wherethewallonce stoodandontoclearpavement, andonceagain,Ireachedfor theside wallofthe cab.

“Andnow—nowweareprisonersinEastBerlin.”

Heswervedthecyclesharplybacktotheleftagain.“Andnowwe arebackinWestBerlin.”

Andthenbacktothe right.“AndnowEast again.”

Hecontinuedmakingserpentineturnsbackandforthfromeastto

westuntilfinallytheoncomingtrafficbeganapproaching.Hesteered usbacktosafety alongtheroad’sshoulder,wherewehadbeenbefore onthewestsideofthewall.

Thecyclistwasbreathingheavily,recoveringfromtheexertion of

crisscrossingthephantomBerlinWallsomanytimes. Irelaxed mygrip on thesidewallsofthecab andsaidnothing,astheBrandenburgGate nowcameintofullview.Icouldseethecleardome of theReichstag buildingbeyond thetreeline.Thecyclistlookedbacktoward thefor- merEastGermansideof thewall,butupwardandatthetreetops,asif he werelookingover somethingand acrossthe wide-openstreet.

 

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The Poet

Out of the fear rises bravery.

Loneliness radiates outward.

Getting lost beckons rescue.

Isolation bares the soul, and

the survivors pick through the bone pile,

looking for scraps of meat

to salvage one last meal, huddling

in the back of the cave.

The bone scratches at rocks,

leaving a million-year impression.

© Michael Domino 2014

Word count: 53

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: creativity, writer, writing