by Marc Tretin Because the cake they bought for me had two breasts with cherry nipples, I felt understood by my staff. I was really impressed with its icing, “Welcome Back to Girlhood, And Fuck This Job’s Cheap Health Insurance.” I put two party balloons under my blouse then popped…
by Michael C. Keith There is something about poverty that smells like death. Dead dreams dropping off the heart like leaves in the dry season and rotting around the feet. …
by Marc Tretin I won’t get tattooed nipples. The insurance will not pay to move my ass to my chest. At my office I’ll make a flat appearance. They will think I’m brave, they’ll be impressed. I’d play my loss lightly with a feminist twist. Though women lose more body…
By Stephen Monaco Dawn tapped her fingers impatiently on the table, trying to tune out the chaos that reigned on the other side of the sprawling glass windows, PLAY PLACE emblazoned across them. Every scream and squeal from inside knotted her stomach tighter. Thankful to be on this side of…
by John Danahy “I wouldn’t even touch Cliff,” Chloe said, cradling the phone between her neck and shoulder, “never mind actually do it with him. Not that I’m saying I’d actually do it with anyone. But Cliff thinks he’s God’s gift, and he’s definitely not my type.” “So who is…
by Telisha Moore Leigg “LaRissa,” Wishbone whispered to me all those years ago in the less-than-economy motel where we ended up after a few months on our own. “Give the joint back; take a puff or some shit! Jesus, kid! Get off the pot or piss.” How romantic, I thought,…
by Tony Press First there were only six, and then a few more arrived before noon, but the room was far from full. Nils wasn’t shocked at the low turnout but he was disappointed and that surprised him. He had attended so many funerals in the past year, almost always…
by Bleuzette LaFeir One. Two. Three. Begin: My first breath is thin air. Elevated. Seventy-five-hundred feet. The desert and the mountains. The light? Brilliant, harsh even, yet buffered through creamy cloth. Thinned further by slips of silver smoke that layer through the living room. Thick, earthy scents of meat wave…
by Daniel Charles Ross Traffic sucked. Traffic always sucks, of course. The worst form of standing in line is in traffic. My little town, a suburb of another already small town, had found a chunk of federal road budget they had to spend or lose it, so they tore up…
by Hemant Nayak Victor P. Bladishenko loved the sound of crickets, their shiny carapaces snapping between his thick fingers. He thrilled at the crack and pop. He smirked as their legs twitched when separated from unfortunate heads. Victor flicked the still moving parts to Anatoly, his Siamese, who snapped them…