Pinned

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A man lay pinned under his overturned snowmobile, the weight of it spread across the backs of his legs. The left leg felt broken—electric hot despite the cold.More

Stranger

Stranger

Essay by

After we had been dating nine months, Mark and I were in New Orleans visiting his friends. We were playing a game similar to that old television show The Newlyweds: to win, you accurately anticipated the other players’ answers, knowing how they would characterize themselves. One of the questions was. “How many people know youMore

Did You Never See Dallas

Did You Never See Dallas

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Two tales about trying to correct the past.More

Kissing Barbie

Kissing Barbie

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Inside information Uncle Jimmy called it. I wanted some too. So, I, Agnes O’Doul, of the Ninth Street O’Doul’s, on this day in the year of our Lord 1965 broke the rules.
I became a time traveler.
More

Googly Eyes

Googly Eyes

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If Jeff hadn’t told folks it was my birthday damn-near every time we went out to eat growing up, I’d have thought someone got cute with their lighter games in Bob Evans and things had gotten out of hand. More

Doctor on Call

Doctor on Call

Fiction by

Stab the vial with your needle, load up the pin, and get that shit in. More

Is it Really So Hard: Thoughts and Semi-Rants on Louis C.K., Toxic Masculinity, Art and Victoria Falls by James Hornor

Is it Really So Hard: Thoughts and Semi-Rants on Louis C.K., Toxic Masculinity, Art and Victoria Falls by James Hornor

Essay by

What I kept thinking about as I read Victoria Falls, was that this is one thing artists, male artists especially, can do, they can listen, they can do better, and they can craft characters and story lines that map out different, more self-aware ways to be male: males that are responsive and grow, and fight against all the ways society convinces them, men, to suck.More

Old School

Old School

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Sunshine in a bag. It’s 4:20 somewhere. Drop by and say high.
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Man on Pause

Man on Pause

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Down in the bathroom, in the private stall, I saw how the bowl was like splattered with bright red blood. Gave me a scare. Wow, I’m glad that’s not me, I thought, but had the nagging sensation that it was gonna be me in no time at all—yikes! Shit seemed like an omen.More

Two Stories

Two Stories

Fiction by

We know these women by our post cards, Henry thought, beautiful but inclined to blow away.More

A Hint of Color, a Trace of Lead

A Hint of Color, a Trace of Lead

Fiction by

It is my father who passed with cancer in 1982, and is now alive.More

To The Man Who Loves My Wife

To The Man Who Loves My Wife

Fiction by

What do you guys do when you’re not having sex? Do you watch television like we did? Is that the faint smell of American Spirits that I sometimes catch the scent of, the bedroom window open to cover it up? Do you ever get too cold sitting up in bed with white sheets covering your naked bodies, puffing on cigarettes?More

Legacy

Legacy

Fiction by

I rotated my hips outward, pretending to be a dancer, and did a sloppy arabesque, showing my striped underwear to the mirror. I held myself there, distorted and wobbly, and noted how far my body could bend on its own. I stared and stared, and, like saying a word so many times it no longer sounds like a word, I became less and less human to myself.More

A Vulture

A Vulture

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Kevin Carter committed suicide four months after winning the Pulitzer. More

Some things that happened after Derrick woke up his girlfriend at 3 a.m. to watch Too Many Cooks

Some things that happened after Derrick woke up his girlfriend at 3 a.m. to watch Too Many Cooks

Fiction by

Derrick (me) felt a little less scared about the future and life in general thanks to a bunch of the little creepy appearances of the killer in the background of Too Many Cooks like when he’s on the stairs in the background of the family photo near the beginning and no one notices he isMore

We’re The Ones

We’re The Ones

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True grit ain’t as easy as it looks, he said. You’ve got to get dirty if you want to live. More

“The car had been through a reconstructed transmission, a busted carburetor, and was an absolute lush for Valvoline.” – Jordan Farmer, “Brothers”