A pair of Ghettobirds came for Ol’ Preacher Bag Lady at Five Points station, Eastbound to Indian Creek.
One of them hovered over Ol’ Preacher Bag Lady, a mechanical chimera with a tall, feminine figure, a hawk’s head, wasp wings and a kaleidoscopic breastplate. The head was not … view
How do you pick up a Goth girl? With your knees, not your back. She tried to remember who told her that as she braced herself, took a deep breath, gripped the handles and pushed with arms, back and knees. But the goddamn wheel spun again before the … view
It is Sunday night and we are standing on the porch after I’ve put our son to bed, saying goodbye, see you in a couple of weeks, etc. It’s the often perfunctory end to dropping our son back off with her, but it’s gotten warmer over the years. At first … view
“That’s a nice lighter,” Mark says. You hold it in your hand and you and Mark smile like it’s an orb. It is an orange and yellow Bic with a benevolent sun floating among pointy stars and a sleeping crescent moon. A portion of a circle with astrological … view
I can see me standing in the middle of a metal rope stretched between the staggering red walls of a deep red canyon. But the camera in my eye is drunk—to the right, to the left, a half inch there, a half inch back, one eyelid closes, the … view
I’ve got the flu and I’m in my bathrobe in the stairwell waiting for a callback from Steve Swann–the guy I’m crashing with from my therapy group. I stepped out for a smoke, forgot the key, and the door locked shut behind me. Getting locked out in the … view
Six hours in at Janie’s, all Ed wished was for her to take down the mirror behind the bar. It was like a curse, seeing himself shrink to nothing. This time last year he had been a head above the frame, tall as a short man, chinful. Now … view
Brick and Moose stood at a tall narrow table comparing the size of the lime wedges in their gin and tonics. Moose’s wedge was bigger.
“That is a weak wedge, dude,” he kept saying.
Brick was good-natured about it. “Yeah, but I bet you he’s got … view
Inspector Mustapha Alawi peered through the rain-spattered windshield with a sour expression on his face. As Diana pulled to a stop at the barricade just past Seventh Street, he lunged for the door. “Hyenas are already here.”
Diana looked up Peachtree, where the barricades were pushing the usual Saturday … view
Hester L. Furey
It’s a code, an inside joke, a redneck poem. These two words slipped casually into the conversation used to bring my whole family down, laughing helplessly with tears in their eyes. My mother coined this piece of shorthand in her careless, off-hand way one evening while telling … view