“All the light switches in this apartment are broken, each in a different way.” Melissa Mesku goes all Georges Perec on the various kinds of lighting in her home.
“The apartment has no airflow. And in this heat. It’s damp. Suffocating. Unbearable.” New fiction by Steve Anwyll.
Tracy Lynne Oliver
“My piss is a gray squirrel named Nutmeg. It scampers wet. And I am relieved.” Short fiction by Tracy Lynne Oliver.
Tracy Lynne Oliver
“The saddest thing is a dying horse. That time I hit one with my car. How I sat beside it while it died. Begging it to rise again, let me on its back, how we could just ride away and eat grass and lick salt.” Short fiction by Tracy Lynne Oliver.
David Leo Rice
“The Brothers Squimbop, Jim and Joe, plied their trade in the dusty American interior of the 2070s, which, following the logic that Y2K was the Zero Hour and it was all linear reversion from there, mapped almost perfectly onto the 1930s.” New fiction by David Leo Rice.
“I pick up the knife from the table. It’s heavy and beautiful. I look at my foot, imagine lines of red blood in shiny bubbles speaking to me, singing.” New fiction by Cezarija Abartis.
“Bars are often known by the names of bartenders who died thirty or forty years ago. The name over the door is always something nobody ever says.” New fiction by Kevin Spaide.
“the dark germ that all conclusivities draw from and preclude, brazen chapping-hand that wags and wanes with the splendid rot of oaks…” New work by Liby Hays.
“Tch-aron, Kh-aron, Sh-aron, spelled with a Ch- (like the largest of the five known moons of the dwarf planet Pluto, like the underworld ferryman of ancient Greek myth): I never knew how exactly to pronounce the name of the self-professed self-help guru I worked for, the year after I graduated from college.” New fiction by Alyssa Proujansky.
“Larry fell off the turnip truck wound up in a drain ditch with a plastic grocery sack tied over his head in a top knot.” New fiction by Alex Gregor.