(Andy in his natural habitat)
For years astronomers have theorized about the existence of another ninth planet in our solar system to replace Pluto, which was demoted to some other category of pointless rock for reasons only clear to the pocket protector faction of human society (I suspect the astronomers conspiring with the makers of the solar system charts you see in classrooms; Pluto was the victim of planned obsolescence).
Continue reading “Week 524: Seeking Alfie X”
Catastrophe. Social disaster. Already noon and not enough dancers, Kitty told the pool boys.
The pool boys were piecing together a parquet dance floor on her back lawn. They said, We can dance.
I’m sure you can, dear, Kitty said. She could just picture it: scandal. Maybe she’d take up their offer. God knew her husband and the other patricians of Oyster Cove were too dignified to kick up their heels.
Continue reading “The Last Fourth of July by Scott Pomfret”
He stood in the doorway of her sewing room, saying nothing, rocking back and forth on the threshold. She had been expecting him, but it was the alternating squeak and swish of his rocking that caught her attention, “What time do you have to be there?”
Continue reading “Almost There by John Bubar”
The city gets stranger the farther Randy goes and he wears a scowl to ward off potential hostilities. The mood on the street is like a spreading bruise and the faces of passing strangers bear the strains of dark struggles. He walks beneath a sullen haze that roughly complements the worn skin of the old apartment blocks. The nation’s malaise seems to have settled on everything like a fine dust.
Continue reading “One Way Street by Chris Carrel”
We’d always egg one another on, seeing who’d be first to set her off. Every kid I knew did it. It was just a game. Her mind had long gone. She didn’t remember that it’d been done before. Each time she was teased was like the first. We’d wind her up and the payoff was one of her screams. Major horror screams! And then we’d leg it, pissing ourselves laughing! Like I say: just a game.
Continue reading “Bully Boys and Navvy Boots by Pam Knapp”
Night falls black and starless. His eye is drawn to the cemetery. A chill runs through him. Young sees his breath in the porch light. He takes the air into account—the change. Things will have to be shut off soon and covered, other things will have to be turned on. He hears footsteps and the slamming of cabinet doors. Young thinks, are those snowflakes? I hope not. Trinity’s rusty black Chevy Cavalier has the trunk lid standing open.
Continue reading “Girl on a Trampoline by Christopher Ananias”
Sam doesn’t like sunsets. Sunsets for Sam are a daily reminder that death is just over the horizon. Sunrises aren’t much better for Sam either because they just start the clock running again, marking time until the next sunset. Even now, as he stands outside his mother’s house smoking a cigarette while the hospice nurse tends to his dying mother, Sam is unpersuaded by the light of one of those sunsets in which people swear they see Jesus’s outstretched arms in the iridescent rays that beam between clouds. Sam just shakes his head in disgust, then turns and walks inside.
Continue reading “The Weight of Nothing by Kip Knott”
Swordfish laid out in the supermarket, next to tuna steaks and mackerel. Marlin, the guy behind the counter offers, wiping bloody hands on his white jacket. Mussels laid on a bed of samphire. You can almost taste the salt. Call me Ishmael. A wide Sargasso Sea. Wind over waves. Barnacles on the hulls of schooners, where a man could be keelhauled. As it happens, I’m shopping for other things. Breakfast cereal, yoghurt, pineapple, white wine. The list written out on a scrap of cardboard torn from a tissue box. So, yes, move on.
Continue reading “Swordfish by Graham Mort”
After his anxiety attack in the barely cold sea water, Barry walked to the outside European-style tiki bar where a woman with a roiling accent was singing Sinatra, with just a stand-up bass and conga player accompanying her.
Continue reading “Love Handles by Susan DeFelice”
Sometime this spring will mark my fourth anniversary of sharing the weekend wrap duties. It was either in April or May 2021, I think, although I could look it up.
Continue reading “Week 522: Dope Show 2025”
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