The Kid

He, a nineteen-year-old boy, opened his rusty truck door for her, his forty-three-year-old date. He scooted half of his belongings off the passenger seat: an empty cologne bottle where he hid his larger bills, a pale mug shaped as a tit with a nipple to drink from, last year’s old mail (or was it this year’s?)…

Neighbor

The middle-aged man left his breakfast and wife at the table to go smoke a cigarette on the front porch. He didn’t have the urge, but in the…

The Dad and His Son

The dad and his son had just been seated at the booth. The waitress asked them if they’d like anything to drink. The dad…

A Good Beating

In seventh grade I fucked up Jeremy so bad my knuckles were probably as swollen as his eye. Jeremy was the scrawny white boy who…

The Master

A boy slinked himself around the house corner, carefully planting each step to prevent any sound.

A throbbing heartbeat deafened his ears.

He approached the door of an old, beaten building, something which felt more like a prison to him than anything else.

Charles 3

Charles 3 sat upright on the bench with his hands folded, waiting in his cell for the police officer to lead him to the court room. The…

Fat Lady

I walked into Starbucks and waited in line behind this fat lady wearing leggings so stretched I could see how white her ass was. She probably drank frappuccinos thrice a day with extra whip cream and an extra shot of caramel. A ring, and god it was her phone, goddamn it. It was “Suussssaannnn girllll” on the…

I Am Worth Dollars

I engaged with Francis Pedraza in conversation yesterday and, as usual, it should have been recorded for the content was invaluable. Fortunately, God has gifted humans with something called memory.

Buddies and Monsters

Pete set his one-puffed cigar on the ashtray, withdrew from his pocket a squirt gun, and slammed the damn thing right on the center of the table, shattering the poker chip pile. Typical Pete. He always had some stupid toy — something “his buddies gave him” — to bet at poker night. For a…

Aim and Shoot

“Nothing can bring you peace but yourself. Nothing can bring you peace but the triumph of principles.” — Ralph Emerson

I have finished reading Self-Reliance by Ralph Waldo Emerson. After reading such a work of art, I obviously have thoughts to share. Here they are.