Volume 2 Number 1
It had ended rather simply, at Joe Junior’s, over cheeseburgers in the window booth. He said, “Tell me to stay.” She said, “I can’t tell…
I remember when a popsicle was just a popsicle. Reagan was president. I lived on Woodland Street and had a chocolate lab mutt and I…
Nigger screams, “Cracker!” and throws his arms up. Cracker screams, “Nigger!” and throws his arms up. All the violence-haters freeze mid-step to watch, craning their…
Gritty yellow musk drips down the inverted leg and over my hand as I try to keep my first whitetail buck from spinning. I twitch…
Of course he was angry. He had every right to be, and it burned inside him like a lump of molten salt. His ribs sweltered….
The fat blonde bitch flung her backpack into her old MGB and sped away, hair flying furiously around the tight car as she searched for…
“Mr. Batch?” “That’s me.” An old, grey-haired man folded his magazine and stood up. “I need to ask you something about your brakes,” I said….
I nearly killed a boy named Jonathan Pilby when I was fifteen. If that nosy jogger hadn’t found his busted bloody body under the bridge…
The police reports were true. They were true because I wrote them. I wrote them with my fist and I wrote them with my blood….