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 Jon Jackson “The boy ain’t nothing but bad,” he said. “Like his daddy.” Micah Mason dropped the hook into the water and the heavy rope snaked through his calloused hands. An unfiltered Camel hung from his lip and he squinted against the smoke. His blue Dickies were stuffed into…
By Jon Jackson “Soup or salvation?” she said. “Beg your pardon?” He glanced around the room. A few old men sipped coffee and scanned the local paper. Dust drifted through the sunlight escaping the aluminum blinds like glitter in a snow globe. Fluorescent lights buzzed sporadically and an ancient window…