Two dollar bills lie on an empty table in the coffee shop. It’s a corner table, away from the world, a space no one seems to notice. I’ve sat there many a day, hoping they wouldn’t ask me to buy something.
I make sure no one’s looking. Pick up the bills. I run fingers through crispness. Pretend to peel them, relishing the crinkle of ownership and small power.
Continue reading “Bills by Yashar Seyedbaghari”
I caught her eye. Recognised a kindred spirit. Her head then converted into cruor popcorn. Colour of grey nail varnish, millet porridge. Scarlet white and woeful.
I feared I’d lose my lonesome bench for good.
Continue reading “All My Darlings Waiting by Antony Osgood”
Leila has brought out a piece by our most published author and he needs no introductions to regular visitors to the site:
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – The Story of My Home Town Saugus, Massachusetts by Tom Sheehan”
Before I begin, I send out a warning to ‘The Sensitives’ – God forbid us ever upsetting ‘The Sensitives’ by mention even one of the three trillion things that they’ll get upset about!!
To all you ‘Sensitives’ out there, I use the bad swear word three times in the last two paragraphs so either take some Prozac or don’t read those paragraphs.
And I mean the bad, bad swear word that sounds like Kent if you are from London. You know the one I mean, well maybe you don’t, the one that’s a term for a lady part and not the cheeky ‘f’ word for a lady part that I refuse to use as I hate it. So many folks do and think it’s a bit of a laugh but not me!
However…Have a look –
Anyhow – You’ve been warned!
Continue reading “Week 324 – An Advert, He’s Behind You And I’ll Always Remember The Belter That Was Effie!!!!!!!!!!”
The turbulence on the plane makes my skin creep. I hate airplanes, motion that I can’t control. Two lanes down I see the back of a punk’s rainbow colored mohawk. What makes someone decide to get a haircut like that? The air hostess is giving him some advice about transferring at the airport. He’s transferring, he wouldn’t be allowed in Doha looking like that.
Continue reading “Creep by Boshra Rasti-Ghalati”
The sheet snaps crisply in the wind, perfectly white, a blank canvas hanging on a line. A woman, neither young nor particularly old, bends over a large, wicker basket. Her hands are large and red, prematurely knotted from the harsh, unceasing wind. She is a good-sized woman. An old floral print dress clings to generous haunches as she efficiently plucks each item from the line and places it in the basket. She is one of an unbroken line of generations past, hardened and forged by life on the plains.
Continue reading “Dust to Dust by A. Elizabeth Herting”
The waitress who has taken my order wears a sepia-coloured dress, checkers faded and hem ruffled. She excuses herself as she leans in and wipes the table with a damp cloth. On her sleeve is a single red, round button. It gleams. She asks me something. My car is parked between two cargo trucks. I’m not usually the type of person who visits roadside diners. The red, round button reflects the light from the fluorescent lamp, its four holes laced with loose black thread.
Continue reading “Ladybird by Joy Florentine”
Nick takes pictures of smiles, in coffee shops, at the store.
He especially likes crooked smiles, like his older sister Nan’s. When she smiled. When she was a being and not a shadow in the past tense. He’s tried to store her smiles like contraband. A smile on the way to bed, the two of them exchanging a glance. A smile pronouncing his nickname. Nicky. Or a smile while watching The Big Lebowski, a smile transforming into real, crackled laughter, especially when The Dude lit a joint without care.
But time makes it impossible to store things.
Continue reading “The Shadow of Your Smile by Yash Seyedbagheri”
“I don’t know about you guys, but I just about started to drink that day Jason got caught in 6th grade.” I tipped back the coffee for the last dribble and put up a hand to see if Shirley, who was working the counter could get me another pour.
Continue reading “A Strutting Rooster by Matthew McGuirk”
Leila has done me the great honour of not only suggesting one of my scribbles but also making me honorary ‘mother’ of all you lot. So eat your greens, get your elbows off the table and have a look at this:
Continue reading “Literally Stories – Sky Clad by Diane M Dickson”
literally stories 