Abe's Penny: A Micro-Magazine

1.7 featuring Skye Parrott and Katherine Krause
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About the artists:

Skye Parrott started taking pictures at 17. She studied Political Science at UCLA before moving to Paris in 2001. She worked as a bartender, photo assistant, Managing Editor at Self Service and as studio manager for Nan Goldin before beginning her own career as a photographer. As a photographer, she has worked with clients such as APC, Nike and 3.1 Phillip Lim, and for publications such as Purple, Interview and British Vogue. Her personal work has been shown in New York, Paris, London and Stockholm. She is co-founder and Creative Director of Dossier, a biannual arts and culture journal, and Dossierjournal.com, a cultural website. She lives and works in Brooklyn, New York with her husband and their dog.

Katherine Krause lives in Brooklyn with her boyfriend Andrew and their two dogs. Andrew and the dogs are all bigger and faster than Katherine. In 2008, she co-founded Dossier Journal because she likes creative writing and fashion and in 2009 opened Dossier Shop because she likes books and clothes.

Full Text:


Before I was born, my parents would take my brother and sister down to
Puerto Rico and sneak them into the casinos, back when casinos were 
black-tie. I like to imagine them all young and tan, dancing and laughing
and throwing chips on the table. I dress up in my mother's old evening
gowns and spin around the room, watching the skirt twirl. By the time I
came along, we had money. By the time I came along, my father was sick. 

My father was nicknamed Charlie-wad because he always had a big wad of 
cash wrapped in a rubber band. Even later, at the hospital in a 
green dressing gown, Charlie had his wad. I would help him count out 
the bills again and again. He would look up at me, pass me a 
hundred-dollar bill and wink. "Don't spend it all in one place, kid." 
He'd quickly hide the money when the nurse came in the room. 

When I was little, I would shove my face in the wide mouth of my 
father's cognac glass and inhale until I felt dizzy. I look out at 
the horizon and try to think of how things are really so much bigger 
than me, like God and mountains and Heaven and sky. But sometimes 
it doesn't feel that way. It feels like it's all just my backdrop. 

My father is not alive, but he's not dead either. He wears diapers and
likes chocolate and sometimes he calls me Paul. I sent him a chocolate
alligator for Father's Day. I imagine him not knowing where or who it 
came from, not knowing what it's shaped like, carefully studying this
foreign object, turning it around in his hands.