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Smash the front door in with the pickup, says Dad. I considers it: a cement step, the sunken garden next to it, the brick around the frame, the new pickup. How about a locksmith? I built it sixty years ago, he says. It’s pretty strong. But you’re driving, he concedes.More

Two Stories

Two Stories

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My American girlfriend holds my hand loudly, like she’s giving fuck you, cishets because she thinks we’re way behind in Australia.More

Three Stories

Three Stories

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You think you’re better than me? A guy in a bear costume with a ranger hat and hollow eyes. You think because you live in New Jersey you won’t be affected by micro-particles floating south from fires in Canada?More

The Well of Hidden Dreams

The Well of Hidden Dreams

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What had followed was a cycle, an expulsion of amassed pain. It could not be dispelled nor evaporated, it had to be unleashed the way clouds poured the rains they harbored, rather than condensed into the buried recesses of wells. Despite her sins, she has suffered plenty.More

2 Colorful Shorts

2 Colorful Shorts

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Johnny asked if my father had fought in the war. I told him my uncle had died in it, so my father didn’t have to fight. He asked if my father was yellow. “No,” I said. “My father can kill your father,” he said. “He killed lots of people in the war,” he added. “Said it was nothing.” I became concerned Johnny and his father were planning to kill my father.More

Three Essays

Three Essays

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Why do men—most of us, at least—grin through our cracked teeth and dance on our broken ankles, but then crumble, just crumble, when our noses begin to drip? Why aren’t we more embarrassed to be seen being sick, chronically ill, unsensationally uncomfortable? Why aren’t we less embarrassed to be in serious pain?More

Puddle of Mudd

Puddle of Mudd

CREATIVE NONFICTION by

The first time I ever saw boobs was on the streets of Galveston during Mardi Gras. Puddle of Mudd was playing on the Strand and my parents thought twelve was old enough to brave that chaos to see them.More

What She Really Wants to Say About Kill Devil Hills

What She Really Wants to Say About Kill Devil Hills

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Five miles of Saharan-scale dunes along the Carolina seashore. So hot and vast, signs warned at the tourist parking: you have no way of expecting just how daunting and dangerous this walk will be. More

more secret wars

more secret wars

FICTION by

I thought maybe they were canceling operations. Or maybe terminating my contract. For good this time. Real good. Maybe they wanted to do it in public, make a big show of it. I’d rather they handle these matters in private, in some musty old brick warehouse somewhere, in some back alley, on a secret plane to nowheresville, maybe tossing my body out over a swamp. There is a dignity to that, a flair to it.More

Sum

Sum

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“How about you tell me your phone number and I will add up and multiply all the digits for you in less than two seconds.” Her forehead gave way to a frown. “Woah, bit early to be giving out phone numbers isn’t it, Dave?”More

Muscae Volitantes

Muscae Volitantes

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You had tried, you really had. Yoga, meditation, bird walks, volunteering, stand-up comedy, stand-up comedy! Dating, abstinence, forgiveness, self-love (too much?), anti-gun rallies, pro-gun rallies, rainbow flag rallies, deep bows to all Four Directions for all you weren’t. More