Last call brings out all the old hounds. Grey haired men in wifebeaters, bulging guts and speedos appear like cockroaches and try to snatch up the so called “cute ones” who are too drunk to drive home. I’m thirty-five, so neither young or old pay attention to me. ***
Fiction by Shome Dasgupta
Did you know? Did you know that he and he took out my spinal chord and used it as a piano- x
Fiction by Ryan Napier
PLANT CITY—Amid ongoing legal battles, Kayleigh Moore will give her first live, televised interview on The Oprah Winfrey Show Friday, more than a year after the disappearance of her daughter Kelsey made national headlines. The special episode will air tomorrow at 4pm on WFLA-TV Newschannel 8, the Tribune’s sister station.
The unit gets shipped from the base in Kuwait to Rhein Mein, from there to someplace in Ireland. I spend the flight from Ireland to Charlotte with my legs across the aisle onto the next row of seats. The stewardess doesn’t complain. I’m one of the few who don’t kiss the ground when we land. Another
Fiction by Melissa Chadburn
I heard the priest place his palm on the wooden shelf. He was waiting. I never did well with silences. I had to say something.
I smiled nervously and thought this is strange and funny but sort of sexy. Could be a great kinky sex scene with my new lover.
It was early evening at St. Augustin’s church in Boyle Heights, CA. A rehearsal for my secretary’s wedding. The jacaranda trees had left a light purple trail on the maroon carpeting that adorned the entrance. The wedding party sat in pews awaiting their turns to confess.
Fiction by Brian Alan Ellis
Later you sat on your bed and, mesmerized by the intestinal goop she’d left for you, drank an entire bottle of wine, which is how much wine it took to even consider removing such remnants. Regardless, her mess had to go. So with moth-bitten Sisters of Mercy tour shirt in hand, you attacked, and were struck with the abrupt urge to taste the opaque puddle. (It didn’t smell; the alcohol had impaired your senses, either making you braver or stupider or both.) So you knelt down close—tongue outstretched—looking like some crazy person.
Fiction by Wythe Marschall
The order went: Rico said he saw it, then Jamie, then Jameel, Malika’s cousin who lived in Maspeth. Over the next month, they talked to each other about it—at Minny’s or the Hacienda or Jamie’s house—and confirmed the details, so they figured it must be true. For one, Rico never lied, not to them, not about paint, and for another, the yard was close to Queens, so it figured Jameel would’ve seen it—he was obsessed with geography, with the good walls and the spots no cops would drive by. They had all just found about this new yard, and Josie hadn’t gone yet. They all wanted to tell Josie about the problem right away, but it was just too hard, because Josie’s whole life revolved around paint. He was like the little ball-bearing inside the can that shakes up the paint, that lives forever in paint. He didn’t just write ZEUS—he was ZEUS.
Fiction by Julia Phillips
The old man’s dog kept barking. I called to Alex and we swam to each other and kissed, our mouths tasting like lake water. The dog swam over too and circled us… “Anya?” I called. She shouted, “This is the first really crazy thing I have ever done!”
Zoe Banks wasn’t particularly surprised when her mother, Adelaide, casually mentioned at the end of August that Zoe had both applied and been accepted to