by Jason Grant The entire king-sized bed is mine now, but I can’t seem to move from the left side to the right because on the nights you were here—laying there—if I dared move from my side to yours in the middle of the night it was like I-was-crossing-some-boundary you-needed…
by Rob Simpson Staring out the window, my senior year of high school, I would hope a friend walked by. When he or she did, I’d have an excuse to ask to use the bathroom, run my schoolmate down, sneak off to smoke a cig. Or talk about boobs. Or…
by Rob Simpson You can imagine what a group of sailors look like in the Bahamas after three weeks at sea. If you can’t, it looks like white skin turning red before your eyes and tan lines at right angles. It looks like beer spilling from solo cups, splashing poolside,…