Writer: Anthony Koranda

Thrift Store


His skin was tanned like old leather, a childish tattoo of No Fear scrawled across his throat, dancing as his gums flapped. I wondered if they hurt. His gums bouncing back and forth against each other. I closed my eyes while he spoke about drinking malt liquor and riding trains in his younger days. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t picture him with teeth.more