by Carol Casey The August sun has almost spun the straw to gold in the large stack behind the barn. We take turns sliding down its side, whooping in the earthy smell, the scratchy stalks tickling. Not sure why I go down backward, push off so hard. I land with a thump on almost…
by Dixon Hearne I’m serving kibble and greens to stick people who do lunch here to be seen. They hide behind designer sunglasses to make absolutely sure they’re noticed by paparazzi and tacky fans that point and lunge and squeal. Last week, I deliberately tossed a salad all over Table…
By Jon Jackson “Soup or salvation?” she said. “Beg your pardon?” He glanced around the room. A few old men sipped coffee and scanned the local paper. Dust drifted through the sunlight escaping the aluminum blinds like glitter in a snow globe. Fluorescent lights buzzed sporadically and an ancient window…