by Russell Rowland Sketchy is the restroomin this ramshackle arcade—almosta closet, dark—still, she has to go.Granddaughter, eight, insistsGrampy accompany her. I do— softened at her own wayof being those years young, her faiththat an elder man, retired,unremarkable, divorced, can causethe world to seem a safer place. Once we’re both inside,…
by Isidra Mencos It was turquoise green with black side panels—a simple sheath in stretchy nylon that fit in a fist. When I tried it on I instantly knew it was mine. I stepped out from behind the folding screen and into the main room where my friend Marisa and…
by Laura Grace Weldon Air is soft here fluffed silk against skin, each seam lying just so. Here the heft of a Yale ring, shoes that must be Italian, a wristwatch pricier than two years of her wages. Frayed cuffs turned under a decades-old shirt, cheap even when new, mark…