by Carol Casey The path is trodden, dusty, level.You know it will take youwhere many have gone. Step off—tangles of brambles,sometimes with blackberries,more often with little clawsthat catch on clothes and skin;and tortuous tree roots—inconvenient, sacred data unearthed—subterranean snakelets somehowsifted into snarls for feet to catch.There are stems that twine…
by Tracy Lyall Songs of 70s rock stars are fading, with old albums—vinyl records in colorful covers stacked on top of each other, thirty, forty at a time—lying dormant in a thrift-store window display. The roller rink is closed down, wooden floors scratched by skate wheels, molding and mildewing. The…
by Tebra Mekky It was one of those nights. He already knew his feelings were only going to intensify as the night wore on and he would eventually skip work the next day. There was no use fighting it, so he simply put on his winter coat, turned off the…
by Michael Mclaughlin Victorio Valdez, El Bandido, was a retired Mexican actor living in Tijuana. He had been in over forty Mexican and American films, always as the heavy. In his youth he was shot from horses, tumbled down flights of stairs, and had whiskey bottles shattered over his head….
by Lyz Mancini The man was nodding out, one unlaced sneaker caught at an angle on the frame of a beat-up Chevy Camry, its door pushed wide on its hinges like a starving mouth. His eyes widened as he suddenly pitched forward, clutching a shabby blue worker’s hat to his…
by Julian Gallo She has the right hairstyle, the right eyeglasses, and the right clothes—everything carefully crafted to solidify her place in the bohemian world in which she desperately wants to belong. She holds court at the table at the back of the café, surrounded by mostly male admirers, all…
by Michael K. White At first all I heard were rumors. Someone told me that Snuggy Latka had died, and if that wasn’t shocking enough, apparently he died in jail. When I heard this my first reaction was the instant and insistent urge to piss. Like all of a sudden…
by David Stillwagon Jody tossed her plastic bag of clothes over her shoulder like Santa Claus and headed across the darkened city. The only sound was the echo of cars passing by and an occasional voice piercing the silence. The night air was cool, getting cooler after each step. She…
by Bill Foley The last time Walt peed in the bed, Brenda’s pajamas were the collateral damage. “Walt, wake up!” she whispered. “Are you wearing your Depends?” “Huh?” he grumbled. “Oh my God, not again.” Now shouting disgust and frustration, Brenda ran into the bathroom, pulled off her pajamas, and…
by Thomas Weedman You see the sea of mourners bundled in black fill the small Mission Basilica for the evening wake. Extended family and familiar faces, A to Zed, flow from the past like shivery spindrift. You pray not all of them come though, not him. Not again. Please, not…
by Annh Browder My mama always said that flies were the first sign that something had died. When autumn came and our garden would die, flies would soon follow. They would lay their eggs in the dead plants’ husks, and, eventually, those eggs would hatch. I would often watch them…