We -- Mike Sicher and John Sicher -- are brothers. John has long taken pictures and Mike has written over the years. They had the idea of taking some of John's images and pairing them with written impressions from Mike. In that process, they have realized that often John sees an image one way, and Mike another.
We believe that the words and images enhance each other, and that neither the words nor the images alone are as communicative as when they are seen together.
"We call those combinations, Picture Stories. This website is an evolving project, with new items added often and usually at the top of the feed. So, please check back.”
© 2026 Mike Sicher and John Sicher
Betty and Hame grew up around here:
married, ran a business, had kids….
All in all, a pretty good life.
When the kids were in college,
They moved to a three bedroom house
with a yard in Forty Fort, PA.,
a quieter life where their money
Would not wither and die.
And now they are back for a visit
For the first time in 25 years.
They had kept in touch with some friends
Who sent updates and pictures,
So they knew the lay of the land.
And, of course, like all ex-New Yorkers,
They still read the Times.
They pass by the deli that they
Owned and ran, no real point going in.
And the building they lived in is
The building they lived in,
Really no more than that.
They are not that nostalgic,
Neither happy nor sad,
Not judging, just looking around.
They laugh that the playground,
Once littered with needles and vials,
Is a now a green Playspace named
for a politician who is in jail.
But, they feel assaulted as they walk down the streets:
E-bikes, like swarms of giant bees
(Hame, look out!),
The skunk smell of pot everywhere,
And so many people talking on phones,
Always looking ahead but not seeing,
Bumping, jostling, colliding.
And the prices? How much did you say?
Why, in Forty Fort I can buy five for that price!
Two days later, they sit on the bus.
They are pensive and tired, digesting it all.
I’m sure glad we went, says Hame. How ‘bout you?
Betty sighs, and thinks for a spell. She says,
OK, it was loud, a bit scary, so expensive, and fast.
But MOMA, and Broadway, the Highline…
Plus all of the things we had no time to see.
And the food! Great food everywhere,
From all over the world, on every block.
Hame, we have a lot of thinking to do.
Could we even afford to move back?
Chess.
Great game, great history.
Jason and me, we play a pretty serious game,
And right now, the stakes could not be higher.
Because today the winner dies.
We met at the oncology unit at Mt Sinai
Where we were both diagnosed with
incurable stage four cancers:
His pancreatic; mine glioblastoma.
We both liked chess, so we’d get up a game
Now and then. Talk cancer shit.
Turns out we didn’t want treatment,
The pain and indignity that
Might give us a few extra months.
We don’t have families, and neither of us
Thought we could do ourselves in.
So this is the plan. The winner gets
Injected with a high dose of insulin
Which we both carry in our coats.
Good night, lights out! See you soon!
And the loser? We pooled our money
For a one-way ticket to a resort in Venezuela
So the loser can at least live out his last
Shitty, horrible days by the ocean.
With room service.
Jason looks up at me and says:
What is wrong with you?
That is the worst idea for a story
You’ve ever had. And you’ve had
Some bad ones. But only an idiot
Would believe something like that.
Now, will you please just shut the fuck up and play chess!
Smile and be open and oh so polite
Look in their eyes, and engage just a bit.
Say something funny with maybe a joke.
(She’s been taught how to do this)
And all that she wants is for
You to take something for free.
Her name is Lenore and she thought she’d look cute
If she put a white heart on the side of her nose
And wear her new fleece, that cost quite a bit.
She’s practiced in front of a mirror for days,
And all that she wants is for
You to take notice of her.
And when she goes back to the store to get more
They tell her she has to do better this time.
She’s asked if they’d give her some small paper plates
And napkins and they say, yeah, in your dreams.
And all that she wants is for
Them to just burst into flames.
Her feet hurt, her make up will run if it rains,
She’s thirsty and won’t have a break for an hour.
The pizza gets cold and there’s grease on the tray.
And people just nod with dismissive half smiles,
And all that she wants is to
Sit on the sidewalk and cry.
At the end of the day when she goes to get paid,
It’s always the same joke, well how bout a pie?
And she wants to jab someone right in the eye
With the fork she’s been using all freakin day
And all that she wants is to
Never see pizza again.
Maggie died two years ago today.
Bad cancer, long odds.
Memorial was the best
Hospital for what she had.
Amazing doctors, great care.
And she fought like hell.
Great attitude, mad at the cancer.
Her enemy, she said.
I will give no quarter.
But…..that freakin’ “but”.
Like a shadow over
Everything good.
Anyway, this was one
Of “our” places, here by the East River.
But she’d never let me call it a river.
Stupid name, she’d say,
And then she’d yell at the water:
You. Are. Not. A. River.
You. Are. A. Tidal. Estuary.
Cracked me up.
People around us quietly
Walked away. Mad woman,
I would hear them say.
She just laughed.
Her favorite food was
Chana masala: chickpeas
In a tomato curry sauce.
She loved it, I hated it.
But every year, I get an order
And come here and eat some.
Then I throw a little bit into
The water And yell:
You. Are. Not. A. River!
And I laugh. Because when
You are mad at God,
That’s all you can do.
When I come from Russia,
Many years ago,
They put me in
Witness protection program,
And they give me name Anna Koskas.
Da nu! Sounds like a whore!
They find small town In the Iowa.
Don’t stick out, they say. Be boring.
Don’t smile, don’t laugh.
But I say “nyet!”
That’s how I was before.
To hide, I need to be different.
So I come to New York
Where anything goes.
Dress flashy, be happy, be loud.
Make friends, have lovers.
No one expect mousy little
Ivana Katrovo to be like that.
Who notices butterfly
If you are hunting caterpillar?
When people see me
with my bundles of bottles,
I get all kinds of reactions.
Some blatant, like the doorman
Who told me to move along.
Or the unhoused man
Who yelled at me to get
the Hell off his turf.
Or the dog walker who sneered
And cursed me for scaring his dogs.
They have no idea that I am
a professor at Columbia
Doing research on
Eckman’s theory of micro expressions.
From a camera hidden
In the bottles, I am recording
the flickers of emotions
That cross peoples’ faces
When they see me.
Even when people think
They give nothing away,
Everyone has one of seven “tells”:
Disgust, anger,
Fear, sadness, happiness,
Surprise, or contempt.
What did I learn?
That those freaking bottles
Were heavy and hard to push.
But I did return them for $50.
The rest you’ll have to read
In The Times.
See I love to do this.
I stand in the middle of Madison Avenue
wearing a derby.
Gives me a look of dignity.
Then I look up.
Now everyone who sees me
really wants to look up.
And some do,
but this is New York ,
and most folks want to be cool
and NOT look.
And the ones who want to and don’t,
It fucks with their day a little
'cause they aren’t sure
If they are missing something.
I love this.
Better than ice cream in July.
Hello sir, how do we get to Yankee Stadium?
Yes, we know it is not baseball season,
But we have come from Puerto Rico
To honor my cousin, Luis Arroyo.
He played for the Yankees a 60 years ago.
I am not sure what you mean
When you say to take the 7 to the D….
I know that means subway lines,
But where do we find them?
And how long will we have to wait?
We find the subways very frightening.
We know that is not your problem,
But the noise, like an explosion,
The smell, the rats….
And everyone is so unfriendly.
In San Juan, the Tren Urbana is so clean
And everyone is friendly and polite. .
Here, it is like “The Running of the Bulls”
In Pamplona. Everyone in such a rush!
We are afraid of being trampled!
Thanks you so much for your help.
We are sorry to take up so much of your time.
You are very patient, which we find rare here.
By the way, do people tell you that you
Look like Samuel L.Jackson?
Ever since that kid was shot
Last week, right at that table,
Business is dead….sorry,
I know I shouldn’t say that.
I heard he was a good kid.
Sent some flowers to his mom,
Went to the wake. So messed up,
What kids have to deal with.
We used to have a good morning and lunch rush,
And a smattering all through the day.
Now? It ain’t Katie that’s barrin’ the door,
But people are staying away.
So thanks for coming in. You want your usual?
Two dots and a dash? Dry rye? Black?
I got a bunch of sausage on the flat top
Going to waste. I’ll give you a bag for your dog.
I mean, I hate what happened, poor kid,
But it’s unbelievable that something
Like that happens once in 67 years
And it might be
”thanks for the memories”.
She is as normal
As corn in July.
But…..
When she was 6
Her dad took her to see
Singin' in the Rain.
She loved Gene Kelly’s umbrella
And asked for one for Christmas.
At 18, Mary Poppins
And The Umbrellas of Cherbourg
In the same year
Popped her mind a bit.
She now has 103
Umbrellas, all shapes,
Sizes, and colors.
When a rainy day is coming,
She carefully picks the
Just right umbrella,
And off she goes.
For hours. In the rain.
But in all other things,
Normal as corn in July.
No one knows why she
Never moved to Seattle.
Yeah, I know we’re not “secret”.
Used to be, up until
125 years ago.
Guess the name stuck.
No, you can’t pet my dog
Anymore than you can touch me.
You like strangers touching you?.
No, didn’t think so.
It doesn’t matter if I like him.
My job is to protect him.
Like doesn’t factor in.
No one wants another ‘63.
You are free to call me names
All day, if you want. Just do
Not interfere with what I have to do.
And do not cross this line.
What happens if you do?
Sir, are you challenging
A highly trained and armed
Federal agent?
Really not a good plan.
You need to move along. Now.
And be sure to have a nice day.
And God bless America.
I know it’s stupid meeting like this.
But grandma will ask
If I ever “see you”
And I don’t want to lie.
So how is she?
Not so good, cuz.
In the wheelchair full time.
Says she has more pains
Than a window.
Sounds like her. Funny.
Wish Pops was still around…
Yeah, me, too.
Trudy helps some, and I stop by.
But it’s going bad,
Like quicksand bad.
And the meds? So expensive!
What can I do?
Not much. Maybe a little cash
Now and then.
Some prayers never hurt.
Is she still mad at me?
So I should not stop by?
Sorry, but I guess
she’s never forgiven you for
Becoming a cop.
You know, I’m glad Bobby went to college
So he could get a good job.
And when he and Becky married and moved to Hoboken
and had the grand kids?
Terrific.
But sometimes I wonder what it would have been like
If he took over the business and we were together for a while.
Then Helen and I could have moved to Florida,
And maybe she would have had some good years there
before she passed.
But you know what? It’s OK. It’s all OK.
Is that Lucas again?
Yep.
Who’s Lucas?
He was on the job in Tower One on 9/11.
Got out but left some of himself behind.
Hurt?
Some. A month in the hospital.
Went home, but kept dreaming
Of walls closing in,
So he hit the streets.
We see him here about every 2-3 weeks.
Harmless. Not a drunk, not a user.
We cut him some slack, but people complain.
So what’s the move?
Let’s make our rounds,
And if he’s still here when we circle back,
We’ll get him some coffee
And send him on his way.
Man, talk about “there but for the grace of God…..”
I reach to help you. Your hand on a cane.
The hand that once climbed trees
And picked wild flowers, that kneaded dough
And baked rugelach so good it made me cry.
The hand that I held so tight
When you said “Yes!”,
And that held the flowers while I placed
A ring on your other hand.
The hand that held our babies,
And our babies’ babies, and wiped tears
And changed and fed and cuddled
Like there would be no tomorrow.
And soon there will be no tomorrow
As the mortar and pestle of age
grinds us Into dust.
But not yet. Not yet.
I am not ready to let you go.
My wife elbows me in the ribs.
See that guy in the yellow hoody?
He’s like James-Dean-cool.
Let’s go over and walk by,
Maybe pretend to ask directions,
So we can see him up close.
She grabs my hand and starts to pull
Me across the street.
I gently resist and politely decline.
Come on!
Don’t be such a mud stick!
It’ll be fun, we’ll laugh later.
Take a chance!
I disengage and retrace my steps.
Really? You’re just going to walk away?
Once again, I have to do everything.
This is why you never have any good stories.
Sometimes you are such a pathetic loser!
As I look back before I enter
The adjacent coffee shop,
Yellow hoody gives me a wink.
I order an espresso and wait
For the storm to run its course.
Maybe I should order a double.
Don’t look at me that way.
You don’t know me,
Even if you think you do:
You are thinking, Oh, you look just like…
An old work mate,
Or someone from a movie or TV,
Or someone from long ago and far away….
I’ve worked on this leave-me-alone-look for a long time.
It works. Fuck off.
Angels don’t dance on the head of a pin.
Never have. Ask any angel.
But fear does.
And pain,
And loss.
They dance everywhere,
And all the time.
Just ask us.
It’s not just the fear of falling and failing,
Or the symphony of morning groans,
Or the memories that circle
Around our heads but never land.
It’s just that everything we’ve become,
Is quickly becoming undone.
But angels?
A peregrine falcon,
Wings as grey as a gun,
Hit a pigeon at 200 miles an hour
By the river near Sutton Place.
There was a thud and feathers
Exploded like the 4th of July.
Sally saw it, eyes wide, jaw agape.
A shiver went through her like first love.
Thought that it was the coolest thing she’d ever seen.
Now she can’t stop looking up.
Oh my goodness, it’s cold.
But you know what?
When it’s like this,
Cold as a landlord’s heart,
I think about Oymyakon,
A town in Siberia,
Coldest inhabited place in the world,
Where it is routinely negative 20.
So this here, 10 degrees, not so bad,
And like my Mom used to say,
There is no such thing as bad weather,
Only bad clothes.
So I deal with it. But, good Lord,
I don’t have to like it.
Trudge, ugly word.
Sounds like something you step in
And go “UGH!”
But it best describes my
Comings and goings these days.
I have memories of running the NYC Marathon
Fifty years ago, right near here.
Billy Rogers surged past Frank Shorter
And shot across the 59th Street Bridge
In a New York minute.
I was back in the pack,
Not daring to dream of glory,
Just trying to survive.
Which is what I do these days
As one day trudges into another.
Maybe “slow and steady”
Does not really win the race.
But it gets you where you’re going.
Eventually.
You know, I don’t ask for much.
A thank you here and there,
A smile, even just a nod of recognition.
And I know that some scut work
Comes with my job.
(You can’t believe the things I have had to clean up.)
But shoveling snow?
That’s the worst; it’s like I’m either invisible
Or a horrible person who makes a scrapping sound
That interferes with your phone call.
So, you know what you could do?
Don’t step on the piles I’ve made,
Or let your dog piss on them.
Wipe your feet and don’t track snow into the building.
You know what they say about common courtesy?
Only the common people have courtesy.
Sometimes he walks for miles
without taking the camera off of his shoulder.
His back hurts and he is cold/hot/wet…..
wishes he had brought other/better gear.
Thinking about his wife/daughter/friends.
His brother just moved and so far so good.
His grand-daughter is in a new school:
also good so far.
He’s hungry and stops for a snack.
Bag of chips. It will do until dinner.
New place on 63rd. Hope it’s good.
Sometimes he gets lucky,
he’s in the right place at the right time.
Preparation meets opportunity.
All those old sayings.
And this time: Kazan!
Bubbles catching light and shadow,
makes them look like Yankee pin stripes.
In a freakin’ bubble! Stripes in a bubble!
Plus the cute kid and the dad,
Both in motion, reaching, playing.
And the light!
The amazing light and shadows.
He’s practically fizzing with excitement.
Hoping he doesn’t blow it.
He can’t wait to see it on the PC,
Can’t wait to show his wife!
Because THIS is what
The walking and aching and soreness
Are all about.
And tomorrow, he’ll try again.