Oh, them blues. Them blues done got in my shoes. Dancin’, dancin’ my fool self to death.
James Cotton makes me grab Big Mable, do the two-step, do the buck and run, water the floor with our sweaty salt. She shakes her money maker, tables wobble, bottles fall from the shelf. She bounce them bosoms, make a grown man cry for mother’s milk.
Continue reading “Them Blues by Frederick K Foote: Behold Fred’s 97th”
I was searching for words of wisdom to pass on to my adult children. I gathered thoughts from some of the older generations that are well-known and greatly respected in our communities. I then searched among family, friends, and local publications for examples to illustrate their opinions. This is what I found.
Continue reading “Words from The Elders by Frederick K Foote: Number 96!”
(Editors’ Note: Today begins the countdown to the 100th LS story written by the great Frederick K Foote. Fred has been a contributor for a decade and of the thousands who have published with us, he is only the fourth to reach this plateau. Today we present number 95, and the daily countdown will bring a new one until 100 debuts this Friday.
Congratulations, Fred–Leila, Diane Hugh)
A letter from an unknown source to Francis Marsh (FM) was received by FM in September 2021.
[Francis Marsh is a cultural anthropologist/sociologist in Oakland, California. Marsh has broadcast “Social Change,” a popular podcast since 2018.]
Continue reading “Religion Gone Viral by Fredrick K Foote”
As his hearing receded into the ethers, Frank’s days filled with numbing despair. He was going deaf, there was no denying it. He’d tried with what inner strength he possessed to stave it off, first by denying it completely like any sane person would do, then by telling himself he was only forty-two, things like this aren’t permanent at this age, of course it will pass.
Continue reading “Hear, Hear by Karl Luntta”
The last time Dave showed up clean, he brought bagels and a joke.
“I had to use the car key to spread the cream cheese,” he said, holding it up like evidence. “Don’t worry. I wiped it on my pants first.”
It was early—gray morning light, barely six—and we sat on the hood of his rusting Civic in the driveway, steam rising from coffee in mismatched mugs. He wore a collared shirt that still had fold creases in it. His hair was damp. He looked awake in a way I hadn’t seen in years.
Continue reading “The Summer He Let Me Be General by Jacob Alexander Cohen”
Everyone knew Gadu told lies. But no matter. He was an artist, and while nobody believed he’d run a cocaine factory in the Bolivian rain forest whilst living with an uncontacted tribe or been chief stone mason during the reconstruction of Mostar’s Stari Most, his stories were hilarious.
Continue reading “The Lives of Gadu Tom Phillips”
“What’s it like, being imaginary?” asked Lisa Hannigan.
She sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed, gazing down at her imaginary friends, Sally and Qney, who mirrored her posture on the carpet below, knees tucked neatly beneath their chins.
Continue reading “Imaginary Friends by Gareth Vieira”
1994
Butcher
Standing by the entrance to the butcher’s, Maddie can’t take her eyes off Victor. Her braids tight, her nose – a pointed nettle. On her freckled bronze cheeks, a glowing blush.
I watch the soft corners of her lips stretch, as if pulled, her mouth opening slightly, and from within, a laugh breaks free—an escapee (Maddie is a prison). It’s as plump as a balloon. As thin as silk thread. It inflates and bursts like bubble gum.
Continue reading “Maddie is a prison by Tatiana Samokhina”
Johnny Smiles was the unluckiest person in Hope County.
How unlucky? So unlucky that the town council passed a bylaw restricting him to his home. A motion that passed unanimously. A sentence he accepted without protest.
Although Johnny was an older man, most folks considered him an overgrown child. He was brilliant, in the way all children in Hope County were brilliant—a lingering side effect of the Disaster, that tainted the drinking water and perfumed the air with long-forgotten toxins.
Continue reading ” Unlucky by Gareth Vieira”
He heaved and cried uncontrollably.
Snot bubbles.
His mom told him not to be unhappy as he buried his face in the desk while lightly holding her wrist.
“Think of the good times you just had and will have in the future —and you can always write something about it”
He always got emotional when someone he loved left him.
Continue reading “Men without Women by Adam Kluger”
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