The country is too beautiful to be at work, the roads are too full of adventure.
Author Archives: kschreiber18
Silhouette of the American Northwest
Kyle R. Schreiber Part 1: Strangers & Coffee Far from a coffee snob or a foodie, I once slept at a truck stop in Montana, and I’ve got to tell ya to this day, that was the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had the next morning. It all started when Pat O’Mara and I …
Always Going Somewhere
“You’re always going somewhere”
How I wish to be a Traveling Writer
Kyle Schreiber Someday I’ll be a traveling writer; I’ve got a story or two to tell. Nothing bad or defaming, but I figure what the hell. Now that I think of it, I’ve got more than just one or two, I think I have about six dozen active ideas, but let’s keep that between me …
A Journal from Bidwell Park
Kyle Schreiber What was I suppose to do? Where should I sit? I mean, the park is only so big and most of the trees were occupied by yoga enthusiasts or bongo musicians. In the open grass picnics were underway with smiles and sunshine filling the air. I passed a few fellas playing hacky sack …
Life Currently
I’m getting tired of being treated like a poker chip in a world leaders high stakes game.
Vestiges of Eternity: Ergo Station
Patrick Mazzu & Kyle Schreiber Buffalo, New York longbroadway@gmail.com Ergo Station The bow of the Indwell drifted towards Ergo Station’s wide docking terminal. After traveling thirteen lightyears through an uncharted expanse, IP and Captain Castor Vale received a communication from two furloughed crewmembers: Zere and Redmon. Stopovers at a place like Ergo …
A Stranger from the East
Gone are the days of monument strolls and metro rides; peaches from the 7th street market and shared cigarettes from the stoop are nothing more than a warm memory on cold nights. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll see her in an airport waiting for a delayed flight with a look of loneliness painted on her …
“Year”
Cold January and February had a baby, March was its name.
7th Street Station
Kyle Schreiber I’ve found myself imprisoned in a dimly lit subway station for the past three years. All around passengers waited for trains, ready to move on with their lives. Every now and again a train would approach. The bright light fixed on the engine’s nose would illuminate the ugly puke-colored floor tiles and …
North Jupiter Inlet 