by Adeline Macdonald Clean steam iron the linen sheets, white and crisp and beautiful and without fault or fold White walls upon white walls with nothing to upset you or hurt you or make you cry or want to leave or want to think Do you love it? Is it…
by Frank Scozzari The icy water had been rising steadily for an hour now, and despite her best efforts, Ingrid could no longer hold on. The waterline had breached her chest and then her shoulders and then her chin. Then the force of the water, a thousand pounds of pressure…
By Frank Scozzari The door swung open and the silhouette that appeared was undoubtedly that of a ballerina. The figure was sublime and had the fanning outline of a tutu about the waist. “Can I use your phone?” the silhouette cried out. Marge, the fifty-something waitress-proprietor looked over at the…