Fiction • Lou Reed Disputes his Parking Violations Before a Jury of his Peers...
Was it Lisa? Was it Candy? Was it Caroline, was it Jane? Was it Maureen or was it Rachel? Was it the Sweet Mother Mary Madonna, was it you? I loved them all, oh yes, I love you all, my friends, let me...
View ArticleFiction • The Passion According to G.H. by Clarice Lispector
I hesitated at the door. Also because the unexpected simplicity of the dwelling disoriented me: I really didn’t even know where to start arranging things, or even if there was anything to arrange. I...
View ArticleFiction • Helping the Boy by Eric Van Hoose
It was a cold winter and it was late, so when the headlights cut through the blinds and put those dull streaks of light up on the wall, I got up to see who it was. The truck came rolling and cracking...
View ArticleFiction • The Sick Dark Heart of Things by Adam Morris
Najibullah Zazi. A soothing name. Preparative, though I don’t yet know what for. Or what it means. To say it makes my tongue roll, my lips plump. The name reverberates in the high corner of the bare...
View ArticleFiction • Pals by Mike Wilson
Truman walked around town all the time after he came home. His morning course was always different. Some mornings he could be seen walking down south of town near the train depot, sometimes alongside...
View ArticleFiction • Departures by Ali Hosseini
It’s been years, but by chance or fate there you are sitting across from me in the Boston airport. I look at you–your green eyes seem greener, with a few faint lines around them. You look at me–I’m...
View ArticleFiction • Although I Don’t Know Your Name by Jesus Fernandez Santos
I was behind the unopened record boxes, not knowing how the morning would go, at that time when everyone is unloading goods from vans and trunks, from suitcases where no one could imagine so much...
View ArticleFiction • Rivka by Douglas Silver
Students pluck the ground rich with your first lover. Sitting Indian style, they blow dandelions into wishes and unpack bag lunches beside the brick mess where for years you melted their blood-ties....
View ArticleFiction • Hopko by Scott Gloden
The first tree we cloned was in Bolivar Park in Zoar, Ohio: a short, vulturine-limbed thing right there in the open, nestled by a vale and a necklace of pines never ill-affected by the seasons. We...
View ArticleFiction • Lemonade by Travis Rave
Mom’s at the door again and I think about telling Dylan, but he’s busy making more. You always need to have backups is what he says. That way you never run out. I’m trying to learn because business is...
View ArticleFiction • Prologue by Joseph Riippi
Because I want to walk out the door of a dark Finnish farmhouse and deep into November morning fields, where leaves would have fallen if there’d been any trees not yet chopped for burning, and maybe it...
View ArticleFiction • Heaven Is Full of Windows by Steve Stern
Had Gussie Panken looked up from her machine, a movement that could get her salary docked a dollar, she would have seen what the lazy Sadie Kupla saw in the window overlooking Washington Place. The...
View ArticleFiction • Mendel’s Wall by Jai Chakrabarti
As soon as Shabbos ended, Mendel went for his heavy tools. He had enough sheetrock in the basement—that wouldn’t be a problem—but first he made himself a coffee and added a bit of schnapps. He poured...
View ArticleFiction • The Woman of Porto Pim by Antonio Tabucchi
I sing every evening, because that’s what I’m paid to do, but the songs you heard were pesinhos and sapateiras for the tourists and for those Americans over there laughing at the back. They’ll get up...
View ArticleFiction • Produce by Sarah Gerkensmeyer
I’ve started grocery shopping at one of the new, big places that takes up an entire city block, but claims to support the environment and our health and world peace and all of that. It’s one of those...
View ArticleFiction • Kennesaw Mountain by Laura Usselman
Brian is getting further and further away from me in the storm, but still I do not call out for him to stop. I don’t know how he can see to guide himself through the pitch darkness of these woods....
View ArticleFiction • Current by Caroline Zeilenga
Her daughter tells her she should not fish alone. Her daughter, Sarah, calls most Sundays. “Mother,” she says, the sirens of a distant city blaring in the background, “you really shouldn’t fish by...
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