Collage of Sport as Self, Self as Sport

Essay by

I loved the old room, though it was dim and ugly and old, stank of the pungent antiseptic soap we used to mop the mats and the brininess of sweat that couldn’t really be scrubbed away. It smelled like what it was: a box of straining bodies on a soft floor, blocked in by padded walls, a training ground that contained as much of yourself as you were willing to release.More

The Genie

The Genie

Fiction by

Jesus, I thought. Treasure. Real treasure. I didn’t say a word to the neighbor kid. All I thought about was his snot hands and my lamp. I knew what I had to do. I picked up a clump of dirt, and I thew it at his head.More

At the Keg

At the Keg

Fiction by

Know your audience. Play Willie. Play Hank Williams. Play Patsy Cline. Play Springsteen and hum along. Cry into your drink. Try to feel happy. Talk to the bartender. Try not to look at yourself in the mirror behind the bar. Drink until you can’t feel the pain in your lower back. Drink until your cash is gone. Bring just enough cash so that you stay long enough, but not too long so people think you have a problem. Don’t get kicked out. I love you.More

Beer and Sushi

Beer and Sushi

Essay by

I’m sure plenty of his friends’ parents stroll through his line, but I wondered how many of them had taken him to a concert in Detroit when he was 15, and if I was the first on a Saturday night, buying beer and sushi in a Dusty Rhodes t-shirt?More

800,042 Little Lights

800,042 Little Lights

Fiction by

What says “Christmas” more than a blinking, schizo forty-foot tall American flag with elves at the bottom saluting the drivers. Not the flag, no sir, but the drivers. Dead-eyed creepy elf fuckers robotically raising and lowering their hands to their foreheads. Salute!More

Beach Rat

Beach Rat

Fiction by

Beneath the raw flesh slick with ointments, I could see the ghost of his past self. He was beautiful. I told him as much. I said, Does it make you uncomfortable? I see it. Your beauty.More

Cowboy

Cowboy

Fiction by

The house was dark by the time he reached the steps, no porch light, no downstairs light, but he could hear a radio playing somewhere nearby, something country, twangy. He stepped inside and, immediately, his mother called down to him to not turn on the light and to come up the stairs, she needed his help.More

A Couple Tomatoes

A Couple Tomatoes

Fiction by

If there was ever just one bird left in the shoot, it’d get pardoned. Let out to fly away. Makes you wonder what the truly guilty do with freedom. I’ve stopped pretending I don’t feel a little crooked about everything.More

Suiting

Suiting

Fiction by

A week before, she’d up and left. I’d hardly gotten around to plowing my heart from where it hung. I was spending obscene sums at patisseries, flaking crumbs to the floor, buttering my fingers and suckling them to a sheen. I was already searching for something to forget.More

The Seasons of Gilly Black

The Seasons of Gilly Black

Fiction by

Mole heard his mama talk about Gilly and how he hadn’t been the same since coming back from the war. Looked like she wanted to spit talking about their neighbor. No compassion. And his mama would never spit. More