The Silence of Small Rooms

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The elevator is full to bursting. Intolerably hot is how you would describe it, if pressed. Wall to wall. Elbow meet elbow. You’re eyeballing the orderlies and patients and visitors all around you, trying to dead-reckon their weight and then compare to the oxidated inspection plaque that lists the elevator’s carrying capacity as Max 4More

HARVEST

HARVEST

Fiction by

But Myers always wanted to quit the mine that he worked full time for, to fold his workpants up, shove them into the woodstove, beat across Field’s Church Road down to the riverbank, and slowly drown himself, strangling on the water, washing the ash and dust out of his eardrums, and die in a pure way, natural, so he wouldn’t end up dirty like his father, hanging from the main beam, filthy as a day’s work. More

Michael

Michael

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homeless shelterMore

Landmine

Landmine

Essay by

“Wife-beating has a unique and unforgettable sound, especially when it wakes you up in the middle of the night…”More

A Convenient Funeral

A Convenient Funeral

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If you wanna be cool…More

Because of Me

Because of Me

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Valentine’s fell on a Saturday that year and I was off work, but I went where I worked with Gimbel anyways. Why, either went like this: we were stoned, and I wanted donut holes, and Gimbel knew some girls we could fuck later, and we went to Pick & Save for donut holes and condoms,More

Angel

Angel

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Because angels don’t drift down from heaven but once on a Tuesday evening in a steady rain to watch steam rise from coffee and listen to “American Pie” on the jukebox. More

Bolt Train

Bolt Train

Fiction by

I go until the train runs out of track. It’s comforting. I know the route well enough to find it so. You have all the exhilaration of escape alongside the knowledge that the train turns around again, looping back home.   I do this when I’m anxious—it’s like cross-hatching on a page over and over,More

Cutting

Cutting

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I found my father’s bed at the end of the corridor. A nurse held his pallid arm up to the light. She adjusted one of the tubes and lowered his arm back to his side. In the neighboring bed, a man older than my father was connected to beeping monitors. He followed me with his eyes. Landis and my mom turned their heads as the nurse walked out.

“What are you doing here?” asked Landis.More

They Called Me The Virgin

They Called Me The Virgin

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If plans can take on a life of their own, I think it follows that they can have a birth and death as well. More

The Children of Charlemagne

The Children of Charlemagne

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I needed to love so I chose the girl in the backyard who looked like my sister.More

Many Ways to Find Out

Many Ways to Find Out

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I might have let timidity be my guide had Hannie not started in with her Saturday sojourns. She just started disappearing. I would be in the backyard mowing the lawn or moving boxes into the attic. I would return to the kitchen for something or to make lunch and she would be gone.More

Lavina

Lavina

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“Maybe you should try hosiery?”

“Sure.”

“They give you pensions in the hosiery business. You don’t get that with condoms. Besides, what’s a nice Jewish girl working with rubbers?”

It’s true. My friends were lobbyists for gun companies or copy editors for clients who made butter. It was a small world, and they all knew each other, and gave each other jobs, though not me.More

Dolls for the End of the World

Dolls for the End of the World

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The warmth came and left, and, no sooner, it left and came. There was no way to guess what the world would become. At least it remained. Charred oak trees surrounded by misplaced puddles. Rivers as black as burnt cherries. Sputtering flames along the receding riverbanks. Days shorter and, still, longer. Patrick stood on theMore

The Crystal Palace

The Crystal Palace

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Now the Millers’ living room was white with smoke. A dark plume gathered quickly at the ceiling. My lungs burned, my eyes stung. Before that, though, I dreamed: the fire in the fireplace cracked and snapped happily. I was still watching TV, the show about the Crystal Palace. Caleb hadn’t left yet. He sat thereMore

Holy Thoughts

Holy Thoughts

Fiction by

Catholic, Jewish, Mormon, or Muslim–boys will be boys.More

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