by James Sennett chair was not Bonnie’s. How could it be? None of the telltale slouching evident in the faded cushions made of crushed flowers of indiscriminate species. Fitting just so for the visitor to lounge for a bit before taking the money of the neighbor you hated for stealing your recipe of some pie or other. Like it mattered anyway.
by Jane Finlayson Nicky peels the skin off the chicken in one slick move, like she’s undressing some squirmy little kid before it makes a getaway. “Stay put, you twisted bag of bones,” she hisses, holding the bird upright and slapping onion halves and rosemary into the cavity before wrestling…
by Cynthia Roby Boomerang was Sadie’s man, and he got his name by definition: Every time she threw the lying cheater out, she’d cry, howl, and moan, all before that need-to-satisfy ache in her groin pried her thighs apart and let her Boomer back in—until the dag-gone fool never returned….