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”
Robotic card reps call to collect in the morning, reiterate in the afternoon, and assault my ears in the evening.
They really need to get in touch with Nicholas Alexander Botkin. Age thirty-four. Date of birth 16 January 1987.
Continue reading “Over the Limit by Yash Seyedbagheri”
I’m wealthy so it’s appropriate I camp in a Cadillac. Those luxuries! Genuine simulated wood accents, leatherish trim, shiny bits. The exterior paint is nearly unblistered and all glass is intact, except the impact snowflake embossed into the windshield. Despite the daytime warmth I barely detect the previous owner’s carpet-blood.
Continue reading “Dystopia, Pennsylvania by Michael Grant Smith”
literally stories 