We parked on the street in the grey light of the overcast afternoon. The house loomed over us as we stepped out and quietly closed the car doors. I glanced at Sam, wondering if
Category: Fiction
“Who told you to wear those shoes?” Looking down at her pink flats, she answered, “Nobody.” “Nobody?” Looking down at her pink flats one
Cath and Stan were flipping channels from their corduroy loveseat in the den when their eleven-year-old daughter Sybil came in and asked if they had a can of Campbell’s condensed cream of mushroom soup.
The thing in the wall concerned them both, of course, but what could be done? Jane proposed calling the landlord, a very sensible, Jane thing to do, and so Ted immediately countered.
Not too long ago, I ran into my friend Larry sitting outside a Starbucks. He was frantically texting on his phone, while grinning mischievously. Curious, I took the seat
Gill sat in his rolling leather chair and leaned against his sturdy desk late in the night; perhaps early in the morning would be a more accurate assertion. The sun had long since ebbed beneath the horizon, and Gill’s
I never mentioned my big picture book to Angie. I met her just after Brando had declined the Oscar to protest Hollywood’s depiction of Native Americans, which for many other Americans including me must have marked the beginning of
The hostess starts playing “Cheeseburger in Paradise” again, announces it’s time for the ladies to stand and move one table to the left. I comply. I leave behind Hawaiian Shirt Stan, who’s got a bald spot on his head
On the island of El Hierro, José Fonseca types the last of his letter—his personal manifesto that no one will see—before finally clicking “send.” Five hours of deleting and tinkering with complex words with little comprehension. He sips his
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