A television mounted high on the opposite wall showed white women with facelifts and fake tits screeching at one another while drinking wine. He checked the time on his phone. Leaving the house for even an hour was taking a chance.… Continue Reading
A television mounted high on the opposite wall showed white women with facelifts and fake tits screeching at one another while drinking wine. He checked the time on his phone. Leaving the house for even an hour was taking a chance.… Continue Reading
Females. Also known, culturally, as women. Appropriate undergarments are required to be worn with all uniform combinations. How do we define appropriate? You show us yours and we’ll know it when we see it. But, seriously, don’t show us yours.… Continue Reading
On about the fortieth time I wrenched the steering wheel all the way to the left he said, “Just pull out. You did good enough.” I thought about this guy a lot in college, when I was with my girlfriend.… Continue Reading
Tomorrow I’ll be legal, but I was thirteen when I discovered, sitting before a mirror with my legs butterflied, that I had an ugly vagina.… Continue Reading
Chinooks blow misgivings for days. But with each warm lungful the possibility of re-greening is inhaled and felt. Change may not be in the cards for me, but for a few more hours, maybe a day or two, it will feel like a possibility, remote and slight, but nonetheless, a possibility.… Continue Reading
It’s not always clear what a hole is for.… Continue Reading
Poetry gets rid of the chaff. We’re taught to not linger on the unnecessary. To hone something until it is bone on bone. And that absolutely helps in fiction. Writing is about making choices—what to leave in, what to include that may not seem obvious, and what to take out (lots).… Continue Reading
Within three weeks, he’d gone from six steady hands to eleven. Eight men, three women. Tattoos. Scars. Nervous smiles. Hard eyes. All of them wanting something….He respected that. Wanting something was how you stayed alive.… Continue Reading
I don’t know how to describe to this little boy that I’m not Santa, I’m just a 30-year-old guy without a chimney or a roof. That I sometimes rest my head on a friend’s couch for a day or even a week if I’m lucky. That I got this stint because of my friend who works here as kitchen staff.… Continue Reading