by John Grey I walked through my sister’s bedroomto get to my own,sniffed out the dregs of their perfumes. A whiff of imitation Parislit up the depths of my nostrils,and traces of powder tickled my throat. I was twelve years oldand there were no man smells in the house. No…
by E.P. Lande “Aaron, who’s Madonna?” my mother asked. At ninety-five, her last recollections of pop culture had probably been Bing Crosby or Kate Smith. “She’s a current pop icon, Mom.” In reality, I didn’t know that much about Madonna either. Madonna had scheduled two concerts in Montreal. To Steve,…
by Kevin Jones Mia always thought that maybe, just maybe, if she held her breath long enough the world would fade away just for a second. She thought that the quiet wouldn’t feel so quiet anymore as if it followed her and the ringing in her ears would subside to…