Fiction

  Two points: my math teacher Mr. Umbec died two years ago. I gave his dog a home. I’m not sure of Quad’s age or whether I should think of him as a used dog. Second-hand dog sounds better. And … Read More

  When he arrives, she is waiting with her hands painted for another man. He sits at the far end of the sofa, the middle cushion a buffer. But she scoots over, lifting her hands up to show him the … Read More

  I’d been leaving my bicycle in the living room since Pam left. Just in case she ever drops back in. There’s a nice tire tread worn into the carpet. You can feel it with your toes if you walk … Read More

  Matthew High. We knew it would be him. Even before Hannah turned him over, we just knew it. It was Annie who saw him from the road. “Look,” she said, and when she pointed at the dark shape out … Read More

  Kay leaned on the front porch railing on the north side of her grandparents’ house, flicking peeling paint to the driveway below. The afternoon wind had gone elsewhere, and strawberry and blueberry sherbet tinted the Western sky. A block … Read More

Jerusalem For Asher, a time of confusion, a time of desire. One month, and he had yet to kiss Galina, yet to hold her hand. Their most intimate moments were when he watched her dance The Mediterranean Wiggle, The Snake … Read More

This was the year Martin Weiss walked a thousand miles. He’d aimed himself up the West Coast and walked from San Diego to the north end of Puget Sound. Now, sitting on a mesh chaise longue next to an inground … Read More

1. In the confines of my overnight holding cell, the images burn and keep burning, though it is not my wife, but Lucia, whom I call to cool them. “It’s me,” I say. She’s groggy—I’ve woken her up. I hear … Read More

Yet another crazy-warm winter. Spring will come early this year but it’s already been coming early for almost a decade. Tonight’s temperature is a record high fifty-eight degrees. Local meteorologist Dick Schwoegler is doing a damn good job of explaining … Read More

Jerusalem For Asher, a time of confusion, a time of desire. One month, and he had yet to kiss Galina, yet to hold her hand. Their most intimate moments were when he watched her dance the Mediterranean Wiggle, the Snake … Read More

Sing to me, oh Muse, of Beatrice Fleck, thirty-six-year-old virginal fourth-grade teacher, strongest woman alive, and covert writer of erotic novelettes. Unsullied not by choice but by the inscrutable designs of fate, Beatrice wanted nothing more than to be plundered. … Read More