A Lesson from the Road
He was relieved when she did not offer an answer, as if perhaps the road noise coming through her partially rolled-down window had taken mercy on him and drowned out the question. Read more...
Our Immortal Souls
Corwin thought he might write a novel about an immortal who had amnesia and couldn’t remember what he had done the day before. He discovered the book had been written a hundred years ago. New ideas for fiction were hard to come by. Read more...
Maps and Miracles
Outside stood a snowman with its surface blackened by bus exhaust. The snowman bore two blue stones for eyes, a carrot for a nose, and a crack pipe in what should have been its mouth. Instead of a top hat, he wore a Limp Bizkit cap. Read more...
Tailing the Blond Satan
Through the blurred darkness above a steep slope leading down to a billboard in Stockton Street comes the dull moan of the Alcatraz foghorn echoing across the bay. Archer smiles. He’s anticipating an easy conquest. Hearing stealthy footsteps, and then the familiar voice, he turns and meets his killer. Read more...
Clay strained against the straps, against himself, his fists rubbing hard at the sides of his head. Bea crouched to face him. His eyes, looking pained under a knitted forehead, touched hers before moving away. What suffering could crease so many wrinkles upon so tiny a brow, Bea wondered. Read more...
Into Open Hands
If nothing else, class would protect me — homeless people wouldn’t enter such a strong-hold of capitalist culture. Art that’s valued chiefly for its investment potential has no draw for the penniless anyway. Read more...
Drill & Kill
My students are standing up one by one, sharing their pictures of the school. I’m wondering if 8-year-olds understand sarcasm well enough to appreciate a quip about the flatteringly slimming effects of stick-figure portraits, so, at first, I think that I misheard Shirley’s explanation of her drawing. Read more...
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