Jewish Fiction

We had a small bundle of papers on the table, a job application seven pages long and a thirteen-page job description certification. Applying for a job as a tollbooth operator for the South Florida Regional Transportation Authority was more complicated than we had at first thought. [Jerry Klinger]

I had stopped off for a Mocha Java Grande with extra mocha and cinnamon. To be sure to stick to my diet, I threw in two Nutra-sweets. He was sipping a glass of water from a plastic cup at a corner table. Sweat visibly thickened through his white, long-sleeve shirt buttoned at the collar. He had a long black coat, a bit dirty and frayed at the hem, that touched the floor. His oversized black-felt hat, with the extra-large, firm brim, lay on the table. His full grey-flecked beard wiggled whenever his hand nervously readjusted his black yarmulke. Mendel’s large gentle eyes cried his tired confusion. He was out of his element. It was 82 degrees outside, very bright and humid. [Jerry Klinger]