charleslpearson

Real Me: Storyteller, PhotoArtographer, Painter, Energetic driver of everything above-below-between.

[charleslpearson @charleslpearson]

"Rueben’s, Ribs, and a Little Harmless Mischief" - CHARLES PEARSON https://t.co/Qz8gwuvNx0 June has more themes than a cable television package, and apparently I am subscribed to none of them.

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"New York Lives the American Boy" - CHARLES PEARSON https://t.co/r0jKDCLuK9

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"Birds Gossip in the Morning" - CHARLES PEARSON https://t.co/gp6IRatWy3 That is the pleasure of the top floor: you can open the windows, let the fresh air wander in, and listen to the whole feathered cast calling for mates, feeding babies, and carrying on as if the block belongs to them. I

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"Knicks in Five - A New York Night" - CHARLES PEARSON https://t.co/en7uaOTEAo Fresh from the theatre, we stepped straight into the neon churn of Times Square — the crossroads of the world and, that night, the crossroads of every fan base on earth. Shoulder to shoulder, inching forward, politely at first, then with the grim determination of someone trying to board the last train home.

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"​A 5L Burger (Charles Journal Cut)' - CHARLES PEARSON https://t.co/KAUiZKmNoH "​A 5L Burger (Charles Journal Cut)'
6/20/2026
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There’s a perfect burger for everyone — well done, medium rare, practically mooing — and I respect all of them, even the wrong ones. Whiskey River makes a fine burger, no question, but when I want my burger, the one that hits the char‑on‑the‑outside, rare‑to‑medium‑rare sweet spot, I go to Five Lives in Williamsburg.

And this one? This one did the trick. I took one bite and immediately forgave every bad burger I’ve ever met. The fries were so good they made McDonald’s fries feel like something you give a toddler to keep them quiet.

Williamsburg itself was showing off. The whole street looked like the world had gotten younger overnight

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"​A Bathroom Line Before the Broken Heart" - CHARLES PEARSON https://t.co/PHyucSROXW

What is there left to say about Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman that hasn’t already been said? Maybe nothing in the official, critical sense. This is not a review. Definitely not. It is only my own personal insight into what happened to me sitting in the Winter Garden Theatre, watching Nathan Lane’s Willy Loman fall apart under the weight of his own illusions, and Christopher Abbott’s Biff cry through his heartache, disappointment, and terrible clarity.

It was Abbott’s Biff who undid me—the way he seemed to cry from the deepest part of himself...

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https://t.co/6MZhrmaL5k

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"​A Thrift Store in Brooklyn Too Far Away from Peekskill" - CHARLES PEARSON https://t.co/G9uIqEWeZ9 I had wandered into Brooklyn Junk—also known around Williamsburg simply as Junk—and the name was not false advertising. The whole place had the glorious, overstuffed feeling of Fred Sanford’s front yard on Sanford and Son, if Fred had developed a taste for vintage ashtrays, old lamps, kitchenware, postcards, and the kind of objects that make you say, “Now why do I need this?” right before you pick it up.

That was the fun of it. Brooklyn Junk was not trying to be precious. It was not one of those perfectly curated shops where every object seems to know its price and its lighting angle. This was a place for wandering. A place for bending down, peering under tables, lifting something dusty and mysterious, and then listening to the people around you do the same thing...

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"​A Real Diary Entry" - CHARLES PEARSON https://t.co/k5GfSorB5Q I could not care less about the Knicks—or, for that matter, any sports team. The spectacle of ordinary people roaring with devotion for millionaires already enjoying themselves, and paid obscenely well to do so, has never made much sense to me.

Joaquin comes and goes, and at times my house feels almost more his than mine. That is all right. He does, after all, bring me pleasure when I need it...

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"Some Well-Earned Fun" - CHARLES PEARSON https://t.co/9ngelghNIw in some ways life feels much the same. Men in the Coffee House still read print editions and still seem to be thinking about the same things they were back then.

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"Return to the Friendliest Place" - CHARLES PEARSON https://t.co/SwP9IlIUyD If the mere presence of struggling people is enough to frighten someone, perhaps the problem is not the benches

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"After the Rains" - CHARLES PEARSON https://t.co/WrbacEVTtI Some mornings the writing opens up again. You sit down expecting the usual wrestling match, but instead the sentences loosen, the revisions feel like play

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"These Dreams" - CHARLES PEARSON https://t.co/7WfIZ6jgIM Dark‑skinned, Puerto Rican, lit by that sun‑bleached kind of day where everything looks washed in white. I’m on the balcony, not hiding, not spying — just standing there as he drops his bag

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"Gray Morning, Two Habits" - CHARLES PEARSON https://t.co/Suq3wx4Zef Some of us like to wake up to silence, to ease ourselves back into the world like slipping into a lukewarm bath.

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"The Bartender Knows Too Much" - CHARLES PEARSON https://t.co/iPch4KEhG6 There’s a particular kind of magic in walking into a bar and finding your drink already waiting — no words exchanged, no decisions required.

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"​The Night a Shirley Temple Led Me to 36 Marathons" - CHARLES PEARSON https://t.co/Kc8WEa3tbi Sometimes the best stories don’t come from our own heads at all — they come from the people we bump into in bars

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Lands End - CHARLES PEARSON https://t.co/qCS34zoqXt Fiction remembers what we try to forget.

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"Backwards Day" - CHARLES PEARSON https://t.co/lxgPGgZhEd The world felt backwards yesterday — like stepping into a twisted Twilight Zone

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"CHARLESJOURNAL FATIGUE" - CHARLES PEARSON https://t.co/H0BJ4F0Pk7 But it reminds me that even the people who exhaust us, bewilder us, or dominate the news cycle are still tethered to something human — a city, a memory, a place that shaped them.

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"Portrayal:  Stream of Consciousness" - CHARLES PEARSON https://t.co/gYMlZrrDXc the bees are back, flinging themselves at my window. They’re trying to get into the loft because they smell sweetness. Not pollen from the gardens and woods where they belong, but something from me.