Varying Degrees of Murder
Most days I eat my lunch outside. There’s a break room with a vending machine and microwave and everything, but I bring my own…
Sylvia hadn’t touched a piano in eight years. She was distraught to find out that one came with the house she had purchased, the keys…
We made love with the taste of wine and olives on our tongues. We made love the way new couples do, pretending to be something we…
Read the rest of the “West” saga: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
Continued from Three of Swords
I try to hold the sun inside the same way your mother did, like a talisman. I see…
When the woman came to paint the farm, I didn’t know what to say, so I asked her if she would like to come in.
Continued from The Violent Acts of Poets, Part I.
“What the hell happened to this place?” Jeff said, inching forward until a piece of ivy penetrated the Mercedes logo in the center…
The window fogs beneath my breath; a blank slate. Here I write your name. Always your name. The upholstery is not unlike that of…