Fiction
There Is No Human Resources Department at the Candy Cooperative
The bubbly letters were both a direction and a justification for the lines of people who shelled out $37.50 for a forty-five-minute “experience” at “the sweetest place on earth.”
Solitude Is a Human Presumption
Why can’t we imagine, just for the sake of argument, that a joyful spirit leaves some of themselves behind—an echo of joy in a place they once loved?
So What’s Your Name, Sandra?
Her son’s name was Bison and, wouldn’t you know, she’d enjoyed calling him “Son” for short.
Class, What Do We Know About the President?
What is dramatic about wanting to protect ten kids from the bullshit of the world? Just ten. That’s all I want.
Lepidoptera
Her family had no wings, only legs that could traverse blocks at street level, where no one was allowed since the Sickness.
The Wedding After the Bomb
Somewhere far away, someone made a call, someone in power said yes to violence, and our friends would never get to see our friends say yes to love.
Shlomo and Fanya
The girl, a matchmaker, asked to see Shlomo’s hand. Reaching from her coat pocket, she pressed a tarot card-sized photo into his palm.
Unbecoming Behavior at the St. Agnes Fair
He always smelled like fabric softener exhaust from the laundromat down our block: like blue bottles of Downy and Saturday nights, when Mami would blow dry my hair straight with dollops of Dippity-Doo.
AREA CANNIBALESS
Some just want a lick of fame, prostrate at my feet with their sweaty headshots, as if I am the one to save them.
Forever Atlas with a Balloon
What does a melon dream about as it bathes in tendrils of rainwater, wishing to be invisible?