grab and go
I’m bad about returning stuff. Sure, the borrowing? Not a problem. But once it enters my apartment, well, it's good as gone. Such was the case with Humble Rhodes, a 789 page thumper of a biography about the first ever transsexual, double amputee, head transplant recipient to receive the Rhodes Scholarship. Don’t ask, if it’s on the New... Continue Reading →
I usually turned on the television and zoned out whenever I visited Mom. I used to be terrified of silence, and her house was full of it save for the mundane ticks and clicks of appliances that only seemed to punctuate our lack of conversation. She was only 56, but she was neither young, or old. She was just... Continue Reading →
I wake up late, after an endless fit of rotating thoughts. I'm still thinking, thinking-but-not-thinking about a most horrific date. Marso. What a loser. Crater-faced and cocky, bragging about his polar caps and all. We weren’t even maybe two years in before I knew that it would never work. Some guys are just light years away from a clue. So Mother’s... Continue Reading →
Dawn rises through a haze of tear gas, glittering off broken glass that crunches beneath our boots. The new day casts a muted warmth on last night's destruction, but the smell that lingers is sharp and acrid--a mix of rubber and plastic and things not meant to be burned. The city smolders. Everything is burning. Day... Continue Reading →
We slid into Dad’s truck, continuing the strangest evening of my twelve-year-old life. Mom scooted past the plans and papers to the middle seat and wiped at her skirt, fussing about all the red dirt and dust. As for me, I’d managed to pass under her radar in a semi-wrinkled collared shirt and a pair of jeans that... Continue Reading →
I really don’t know where to start. The cancer I guess. I’ll just kind of glaze over what killed my mom and then maybe we can get on with it. But first I should say that I’ve never known my father, so don’t waste your time trying to analyze or whatever how his absence... Continue Reading →
Frank gave the guys at the hardware store a line about putting in a mailbox. No need to have them ribbing him about little libraries or dollhouses or what not. He bought a post, some ready mix, gravel. A few of those nice stainless steel knobs for the doors. He'd taken to the task of building... Continue Reading →
I was still stoned when I arrived for a job interview at 16 Flint Street, unable to do much of anything with the perma-grin pasted on my face when Mr. Elliot Goozer greeted me at the door. He was old, probably waist deep in his seventies, gangly with wild, marauding eyes like a character I'd seen in... Continue Reading →
Lunch Break Fiction 