Kanji’s shop is easy to spot, the name board is big and backlit, and it stands out amongst shabby establishments with dull yellow-red lighting. I shoulder my way through the late evening bazaar crowd to reach the store.
It’s getting dark and I don’t like the look of this neighborhood. Yet I set out to see ‘my uncle’ thanks to my innate sense of duty.
Continue reading “An Invite for Kanji”
I sit in the silence of the well-lit room. The lights hum above me in a constant gentle artificial song. A small squeak escapes from the guard’s shoes. The shoes, generic in form and cheap in manufacturing, hug the woman’s size ten feet. The guard, tall and muscled, must have terrible foot aches when she gets home at night. I wonder about her as my eyes drift over her imposing form. The straight line of her lips and knitted eyebrows add to the already impressive stature. Does she have a husband waiting? Kids? Do they see the angry straight line of her lips as she walks through the door? Or does her face lose the sharp edges when she is home? A soft mother who nestles her children to her large, albeit, hard breasts.
Continue reading “Orange Fish and Cigarettes “
Alice Lockland, wife of two-time sheriff in two Idaho towns, said to her husband, “Steve, today is the day you will become a father for the first time, and if justice is to be done, the child will be a boy.”
Continue reading “Born to be a Gunman by Tom Sheehan”
The weirdest five minutes of your life, October 17, 2001, Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros at the EMP Sky Church. The Wallflowers opening, Dylan’s kid the frontman.
Continue reading “Five Minutes with Joe by Marco Etheridge”
Breaking news. Jury selection for Texas v. Sanchez started today. The trial has attracted national attention for the state attorney’s controversial decision to subpoena private information in a menstrual cycle tracking app used by Sanchez from the tech giant Omega.
Jax let the screams flow through her. Screams of anguish. She looked around at the ad hoc stations where protestors sat with zombie eyes and wet-sticky faces as volunteers washed off pepper spray with milk. There was something aesthetic about the contrast of cool white and hot red on bruised flesh. An elegant appetizer served on silver trays at a political fundraiser. Crispy skin marinated in spiced cream, paired with this year’s Beaujolais Nouveau.
Continue reading “Worth It by Shawn Eichman”
The interrogation room is like any other. This one happens to be inside the Davidson County Sheriff’s Office in Nashville. A steel table occupies the middle of the room, legs bolted to the floor. Two chairs face each other across the scarred tabletop. The chairs are secured to the floor as well, for good reason and from accumulated bitter experience.
Continue reading “For Love of a Three-Legged Horse by Marco Etheridge”
Hovering over the table, the young lady stands. Though she calls herself woman. But only in whispers. The room caves upon her slight frame as she leans to re-read the letter, clutching the pen in her hand. Her wild crimson hair which once ran free and loose is pinned and smoothed from her face, just the way it pleases him. The kitchen is sparkling too much for an observer, but all appearances are in place so that he can tell himself that life is perfection and that he is perfection too. Little does he know that the table is set tonight for his Last Supper with the wicked Magdalena. The Magdalena who beneath her apron hides the bruises of unladylike womanhood, the bruises of those who dared to challenge his Gospel one too many times.
Continue reading “Wicked Magdalena by Ailbhe Curran”
“We were just here,” said Ned. “Why do we have to visit so often?”
“It’s been a whole year.” Emma took his arm. “Some folks do this a lot more often than that.”
Continue reading “The Visit by Kurt Hohmann”
The world was so much simpler when Forever 21 was just a shitty clothing store. Nowadays, it’s nothing more than a bar off 42nd street, with a comically-large hourglass by the door filled with sand that never falls. I used to consider it nothing more than a cheap gimmick; another one of the city’s countless tourist traps. The truth is the bar was never what attracted people. All those stupid, far-from-subtle decorations aren’t what people come to stare at; we are.
Continue reading “A Little Time by Dylan Martin”
He say, “You a pitcher or a catcher?” I say, “I’m the red-necked Sandy Koufax.” Sandy being a big deal at the time.
He laughs, asks if I’m hungry. I say, “Yeah and cold, wet and tired.”
Continue reading “How Daddy Gets his Due by Leo Reilly”
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