I had no way of
telling which was mine, now that it was sundered and sullied, made
ordinary like the rest. I cried for the rest of the day.
I had no way of
I thought I was being clever, covering my ass. Turned out I was setting a match under it instead.
The collection of men, all dressed in deep black suits, chuckled. Phillip smiled with his lips pressed together.
"Which way for sporting goods?" I politely asked. She looked at me and then all around her, up, over the products, into the hazy distance.
Easy Luck sits in the corner, condensation on the glass of water in front of her gives the illusion of badly cut diamonds weeping.
I don’t really know how it happened, all I know is that sometime before Martin Luther King Jr. Day in fourth grade, Jillian Dafotis creeped into part of my brain that was usually occupied by comic books and my older brother’s Super Nintendo.
To hell with that piano, I thought. It had a dead note anyway.
I don’t have any important memories. I have a bunch of stupid memories.
Davy and my little brother Frankie were never apart. They sat next to each other in school, they hung out together during recess. They played on the same Little League team. And they fished together every Saturday morning in the Nepperhan Creek. I doubt they caught much. The stream near the former carpet mill was [...]
I can’t speak for the dirt-under-the-fingernails crowd, but as a white-collar working man, when I dress for work, I always include a belt. I think it says: I take this job seriously. I am a professional.
Tonight, in the sleeping bag, Mara takes off all her clothes. And that’s it: she takes off all of her clothes.
This woman was beautiful in a way that makes you sorry you were born.
Today’s my lucky day and I’m gonna take that thousand up to the Indians, triple my money on the $10 tables and Maxine’ll have birdhouses coming out her ass by tomorrow this time.
More than a year later, he showed us the jet pack. We lumbered up to the roof again, eyeing that sci-fi-looking junk strapped to his back, giggling our asses off.
I didn’t like Cherie at first. Her ankles were too thick, which spoke of things in other parts of her body. And she was very tan, a dark, burnt orange kind of tan, which made those ankles look like roasted meat. You don’t want a woman to be edible in that way.
For a while there the dust settled, and I thought maybe things had gotten as bad as they were going to get. But I was wrong. Now, we steal electricity.
She walked past dark taverns where shadowed figures talked low
outside over cigarettes whose ends burned bright. She passed always
the ordinary figures in the brightly lit laundromat, of whom she
was inexplicably jealous.
He looked at me. All I could see were his eyeballs, brown amidst
white orbs. We shook hands firmly. A cloud of powder punctuated
I couldn’t hold my pencil in school, therefore I never learned to write cursive. But one thing I could do, I could throw a mean punch in any direction and this made kids run for cover.
He sought to erase her from his mind rather than to become plagued
by the weight of his inactions and her devilish silence. He believed
one should always prepare for the future by releasing the present
and dreaming the past.
But this time we weren’t the only ones listening. The car behind us had a sad clown audience too, and they were all smiling just like we were.
Alcohol: the sharp spur, kicking into his side. He wipes the sweat from his eyes with his cuffs.
Because of the flood, no one wanted the sunken treasure figurines Pesky’s had advertised on sale. He tried to shake me off his leg, but I was too strong.
Looking at the farm from afar, seeing all the spotted cows and the large red barn, any man of normal intelligence would think a dairy farm of those dimensions would require at least twenty hired hands. But they would be wrong.
The buildings were asleep. They weren’t thinking
like they do in the winter, looking down at you and almost smiling.
In the winter they want you to come in and get warm. In the summer
they hibernate. That’s what I hope at least. I hope that something
hasn’t died since last winter.
Fat chance of the warden showing up tonight, I’m thinking, as he throws me a knife. Then I see he’s got another knife.
Everything was so familiar it hurt.
I’d been watching a lot of porn starring
fat girls, which at first I thought was pretty sicko, but then I
started to think it was kind of intriguing, and really almost sexy.
She was just taking her liver and lungs for coffee. It was morning. She had to go.
On the train, riding to meet him, she looks at strangers and sees potential lovers: the boy with a faint trace of a hair-lip, staring out the window; the Indian man in the long red scarf who keeps glancing her way…