Freddy Zalta

  • An Equal Opportunity Hater

    I am an equal opportunity hater — and an equal opportunity lover. A Starbucks on 3rd Avenue, a girl from Tuscaloosa, her quarterback boyfriend, and a long walk down the subway stairs with the man I secretly don’t like: me. Read more

  • Life in Pink and other Bright Colors

    Hank, a painter drifting through other people’s beds, comes upon an elderly couple on a New York street — and learns a love story that survived Paris, the camps, and fifty years in New York. A story about what gives a life its colors. Read more

  • Popeye

    Growing up, Freddy’s mantra was always like Popeye: “I am what I am.” It landed him on plenty of shit lists — and he never cared. On being loud, loyal, and unwavered. Read more

  • That Cup of Coffee

    A mid-October morning walk to the Avenue P platform — the usual people, cafe con leche and atole on the corner, a school of birds swimming in the light, and my father’s old line finally landing: I get it, Pop. Read more

  • But I Remember When the Music…

    An old photograph of a rabbit-eared TV sends Freddy back to the days of seven channels, taping songs off WNEW, and the night John Lennon was shot — when music and television held a whole neighborhood together. Read more

  • The Rising Sun

    A morning on the F train — from ‘defeated’ to ‘defiantly’ to ‘gratefully’ — ending with a line of people hoping for the two jobs available. Read more

  • The Honest Man

    When my father died in 2015, a rabbi shared a story I’d never heard: in 1971, Sam Zalta refused to lie on a job application — and that honesty changed everything. Read more

  • Closing in on Midnight

    A broken clock stuck at 9 suddenly races toward midnight — a meditation on time, grief, the Nova, and everything left to accomplish. Read more

  • Change the Channel or Rewrite the Ending

    An F train ride becomes a meditation on time — the old man across the aisle, two women smiling across a divide at 18th Avenue, and the question of whether to change the channel or rewrite the ending. Read more

  • Just Like Sweet Melinda’s Blues

    after “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues” by Bob Dylan She was a dark-skinned princess without a kingdom, though she had no shortage of suitors — myself among them. We just stood there smiling, posing, trying not to be taken for urchins in need of salvation.… Read more