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Robert

Roman

Empire

RED BRICK ALLEY STORIES

The Killards Are Coming

Every damn day in Religion Class, Sister Anna Banana yapped about the Soviets revving up to start a nuclear war with the new president, Ronald Reagan. She said after the cities burned to Holy Hell, there’d be something called “nuclear winter” that would kill all...

Double-Strength Demon Dogs

Fantastic Freddie was the only altar boy from the Red Brick Alley. He was always consecrating Ritz Crackers and trying to make us eat them like communion wafers. He light-fingered incense from the sacristy, and he blessed water from Old Lady Tully’s spigot...

Laser Loop

I couldn’t see over the tall green school bus seat except when we hit a pothole and I bounced up in the air like a Pop-Tart jumping out of a toaster. Nobody at Saint Augie’s could believe I was allowed to go. My first school picnic ever. I was good from the day I handed in my pink...

The Boy Wonder

How the Hell did Jaggerbush get himself up there? He was clawing his way up into the open window above the Science class door like a real-life gargoyle. The blockhead of a wooden mallet stuck out of the back of his Toughskins where his butt crack was. He wore three...

Robert Roman grew up in Pittsburgh, PA, where he sold newspapers to cars from a concrete island. Read more→

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Jaggerbush's Confession

Oct 8, 2024

- Flash Fiction from The Red Brick Alley

I walked into the principal’s office again. Jaggerbush was sitting across from Sister Kelly Pork Belly. Christmas was coming, and her pop-bottle glasses were foggy because she was already overheated...

Read the whole misadventure at Ghost City Press.

My Own Private Ulysses: Blazes’ Basket

Sep 30, 2024

Blazes' Basket

His name’s Blazes Boylan, all-star crooner.

He knows making baskets is how you score.

He’s a real baller who hits the nooner,

Even when tip-off goes down around four.

Put in a bottle of invalid port,

then throw down a jar of plum potted meat.

If you really want to run Molly’s court

A few blushing peaches will bring the heat.

And lay down two pears, lying head to toe,

Perfectly paired like a fruity ying-yang.

But manage the clock, know when to go slow,

And more than the boards will be yours to bang.

Why this need to feed and make Molly drunk?

She's down, an easy lay-up, a sure slam-dunk.

Subscribe and stay tuned for more courtside sonnets.

Same technical time, same crossover channel.

My Own Private Ulysses: James Joyce Time Again

Sep 18, 2024

James Joyce Time Again

He is our DJ. We are what he plays.

His long book of songs lit up the new world,

Razed the roof and set the dancefloor ablaze.

The censors swirled and his hot critics hurled

Cold water, for they knew their same old song

Had just been ding-donged by time’s closing bell

And swept off stage by the bang of the gong.

The unbold ruled Eden till Joyce gave them Hell.

Whichever century, this or the last,

A Joyce will devastate the turntable,

Give the nod, and put the past on blast

Turning the tables like Cain did Abel.

So next time the future becomes the now,

Don’t waste time asking how, just bask and say Wow.

Subscribe and stay tuned for more sampling sonnets.

Same treble time, same cued-up channel.

Robert Roman