FICTION
Abingdon
We shot each other in the leg twice a while back, and I guess you could say we bonded over it. The first bullet was mutual stupidity, the kind that arrives wearing flip-flops and carrying a six-pack of IPAs.
Magnus Vinter
He arrives the way old memories arrive, through the space where the idea of a door hangs. Magnus Vinter. Or what's left of him.
Raymond
If I were your ex she said, smooth as glass, you wouldn't be thinking about quitting.
La Guerre Finit Quand On Danse
The devil's mouth is the whole goddamn world tonight, and the music is whatever keeps her feet moving.
The Rooster
I wasn't there the night Grant killed the rooster, nor the morning after when Connor carried the body to the big house like a preacher carrying a dead child to the altar.
The Fig Tree
He poured a glass of water. If you ain't driving, bed's made in the back. Might be spiders. You always did know how to charm.
Justice Comes on Wednesday
Follow the bend by the river and there's the old train station, the one folks would rather forget about.
Eleanor
The rain had been polite all morning, tapping the skylight above Jonah’s loft like a librarian clearing her throat. By 2:01 p.m. it had turned impatient, drumming harder, as if reminding him that his
Nectarine Apartheid in the Cubicle of Doubt
She used to write poems in the margins of receipts. Kiss strangers to feel something answer back. Now she has a drawer full of unopened serums and a man who knows how to load the dishwasher, mostly.