Benjamin Crocker
Bio
US Navy/Army veteran and graduate from the University of Maine. Avid traveler-read suffers from wanderlust.
Stories (6)
Filter by community
Revolver
Revolver Ben Crocker Sam pushed the cleaning equipment into the gear locker. He let the door close against the smell of industrial soap. Sam slowly walked the length of the hall to the custodial office. He rapped on the door lightly with his knuckles.
By Benjamin Crocker2 years ago in Fiction
Slack Tide
Jake and Tess pulled off the ferry onto Keiser Island’s main road. They coasted through town at a perfunctory twenty-five miles an hour, passing diagonally parked cars. Tess rested her hand on Jake’s thigh. They passed the Fraternity Village general store, the Methodist Church, the post office, a tiny grocery store, and an even tinier police and fire department.
By Benjamin Crocker4 years ago in Horror
Jonesing for CoCo’s Curry
They say, whoever they is, that scent is the sense most keenly attuned to memory.I ambled by a group of Japanese exchange students--I pace the halls, just thinking and floating, absorbing and avoiding, hiding in plain sight, if you will. The students smelled like my rides to Tokyo, on the JR or Keikyu lines. Or to Yokohama. Or home from my long hours of Service. I wonder how I smelled to them? Like a shipyard? Like recirculated air? The exchange students revive memories of short jaunts to the 100 yen sushi-go-round from my Uraga apartment overlooking Tokyo Harbor and not too far from where Admiral Perry first landed in Japan. How Time and history absorb all things. How colossal we are. Yet still infinitesimal. We are the dichotomy of everything and nothing. We know this. And can’t get beyond the confines of our own selfish being. I am reminded of Sake, and CoCo’s Curry. Red Door Ramen Shop—sadly now permanently closed—shoyu Ramen with gyoza. Soy sauce for dipping. I should move back. I should be a baka gaijin and reopen “Red Door” as it was. Some things should endure.
By Benjamin Crocker4 years ago in Poets
