Jessica S Flayser
Bio
Jessica Flayser was born in Manhattan, New York City. After receiving her Bachelor's in English from Brooklyn College, Jessica published her first work of literature "Beach, City, Villages". The romantic dramedy is available everywhere.
Stories (11/0)
Soundtrack to Progress
I was alone at a cafe in Seoul, Korea sometime in late June, during the dead of summer, having a hot matcha latte. I was a 23-year-old girl 6,864 miles away from home, on a solo vacation, journaling in a freshly unbolted notebook. Some eyes would widen at that scene, even with all the liberated ladies on social media documenting their solo adventures. This was the first of many solo trips to come, but the most memorable thing about that day wasn’t the foreign scenery, the faint sound of Korean baristas chatting with each other in the distance, not even the authentic matcha made with local cashew milk- it was the music. Moments after I took my first sips, I heard the unmistakable sound of a South African song: “Umahlalela” by Simmy. The song itself wasn’t familiar to me, I’d never even heard of the artist before that moment, but the tune was undeniably South African. The deep melody and rumbling beats, simply unmistakable. After a few seconds the raspy singing in Zulu began, and my suspicions were confirmed.
By Jessica S Flayser11 months ago in Beat
Claws of Life
Both women had their eyes fixed on Pretoria's hand. For the past five years these hands were the foundation of an uncanny friendship between a free-spirited nail technician and her wallflower client. From her first day of high school, to her undergrad freshman year, Pretoria's nail beds became a blank canvas for Maui's artistry. She had full creative freedom; the freedom she'd craved in nursing school and the freedom she left it all for when she dropped out. Maui selfishly wished her client would have a similar courage, simply so she wouldn't have to dismantle four hours of work.
By Jessica S Flayserabout a year ago in Fiction
Namesake
August in New York is a season of its own: Humidity is high and the sun rises with a temperature of eighty degrees most days. If the power goes out on your block, the option to fry an egg on concrete lies available, but there’s certainly no street in the city clean enough to wear flip flops without concern, let alone to whisk up a meal. The only thing Sunny Side up on a New York corner are bags of trash, which spent the night marinating in the summer heat. The locals know they’re cooked by their pungent scent which travels up to the nose of passersby or anyone brave enough to crack a window and let the warm city air into their apartment. The scent never comes alone; it’s usually escorted by the sound of music from passing cars, sirens from blocks away, or maybe even a couple of dogs meeting for the first time, barking ecstatically at the sight of their own kind.
By Jessica S Flayser3 years ago in Fiction
