ARCHIVES, 2012 - 2016

Fiction

In This Story I am the Main Character

How does pleasure move if it isn’t in swell or burst? My boyfriend says it makes him feel bad when I can’t keep my pinching fingers away from what is swollen in him, but to that I say: How can you keep a bump unpunctured and still be happy being who you are?

The Lawyer’s Retreat

Out here, on this retreat, that distance has decreased to an uncomfortable proximity. We have no collective task to keep us on the rails. We have nothing to cue us our lines. As a result, each of us is gradually being revealed.

Homecoming

Peanut leaned on a fence, panting, watching Ransom walk away under the staggered streetlights. The pain in his head was crystallizing, it shimmered and glinted. White facets strobed behind his eyes. He slipped between the bars of the gated construction area and meandered along a row of new homes.

Teeth Like Mine

We came home with black hands. We smelled like car engines. We looked like flat tires by the end of the week and it was just another thing no one understood.

One Little Thing

She cradles the bunny to her neck. Her ring is thin and gold and has a small, dull diamond in it. The man snorts. “Good way to get eat up,” he says. “With your goddamn eyes closed.” The woman hums, her head bending over the softness in her hands. She smiles at the man. She had seen something in him and, as women sometimes do with men like that, worked to bring it out. She smiles at him again. The bunny flutters like a heart.

Room Service

Whenever Joanna heard the drone of the phone hanging up, she regretted not hanging up first. Yet, every time, she stayed on the line, just in case he had one more thing to say.

Secondhand Bursts

We’d arrived at the age of irrelevance, the lot of us – except for Daphne, who was not yet 30 – so it was important to acknowledge we were still alive, among the living.

South of Heaven

All things in the desert become the desert in the end, and Manuel didn’t feel anything for the mutt. Just meat for the flies.

Dick Be Gone

At the San Leandro Police Station I'm interrogated in the corner of a leak-stained, bug-zapper lit alcove that reeks of musty piss.

Team

Jerry wasn’t the type for small talk, but it was so quiet, you could hear our silverware echo off the tiled floor and backsplash.