Trump’s Bathroom by Adam Kluger

McLeary was a New York City legend.

He was from an era that was long ago. Hard-drinking newsman. He covered the celebrity beat. His favorite film was Sweet Smell of Success with Burt Lancaster and Tony Curtis.

McLeary had sold his soul for a glass of whiskey, Chanel #5 and a great pair of legs.

He had no regrets.

He knew the city and where the biggest names went to fuck each other when nobody was looking.

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So, Where Are You Now by Jeffrey L Higgs

The distance between the house and the cliff isn’t long, nor is it short.  The distance is the distance. Years ago flowers bloomed here in ever increasing numbers, filling the landscape.  Their lithe youthful necks stretched upwards basking in the warmth of the sun’s rays.  But no more.  Time’s passage stole the flowers beauty and they began a slow, steady decline.

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Week 101 – Darts, Dalmatians And Type ‘A’ Personalities

Well last Saturday we reached the hundred week mark. We have to thank everyone who read or commented or both, that is what the site is all about. We have also had over one hundred thousand hits on site! This is brilliant and we only wish that those who hit were either sending us in stories or commenting! Well maybe not, there are only five of us, but we would love the chance to be overwhelmed!!

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Chapter One: Sid by Wylie Strout

“Dog?  Cat?  Bus?  Worm?  Yes.  Melba, did you pick up the waste can?  No.  No, it was a dog on the corner?  I see.  What did the bus do?  Lose its license?  Why?  I thought it was a cat.  Okay.  No, you go ahead, I’ll stop by the hardware store.  Really.  The entire sidewalk is covered with them.  You walk out and you have to jump around like you have ants in your pants so you don’t squish them.  Okay.  See you then.”   Continue reading

Catholics by Alan Gerstle

I can whip Tommy Bryce’s ass, no problem. Everyone knows it, including Tommy. You can tell looking at him with those spaghetti arms sticking out from the sleeves of his chocolate ice-cream stained t-shirt. And that blonde crewcut. What’s he think? He’s in the Marines?

So I’m walking home from baseball practice, punching in my Rawlings glove when out of nowhere Tommy rushes past me, grabs the glove, and keeps running. He has a five-foot lead on me minimum when I start after him. But I’m faster, any day.

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