The ride felt smooth, almost as if Montana barreled by while we stood still.
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Someone has already been sick, somewhere. I can smell it. It’s not on me, the smell. How long do I have left? He won’t stop at every stop – he’ll ...
Mostly we take, but sometimes, Buckman, we have to give.
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I gotta say, the days out here are gettin’ tougher and tougher.
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And this was the idea of entropy. That disorder is more probable than order and that disorder is always increasing.
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My ex-fiancé, Sherrie, was the kind of woman you might call “intense.” She slammed her palms on the table or whatever surface was available when she was mad for any ...
Sammy was assigned to guard the Bridge of Long Mouth. His superiors hoped that perhaps the bridge’s name would encourage Sammy to speak up. Sammy was a good kid, they ...
Image provided by the author.
Afternoon all,
In response to the growing concerns about a rumour that Glumfan is still technically at war with Germany, I have it on good authority that ...
Pain throbs in every direction. I am encased in agony, trapped in a shell of bandaged layers. Please don’t jump off a bridge. It’s not as efficient and liberating as ...
Photo by April Spreeman.
When Andi picks up fares, she stays away from the university. When Andi talks to her passengers she never talks about art. She doesn’t talk about her ...
When we set up the equality, inclusion and diversity programme, internally known as EID, pronounced /eɪd/, we thought a guy like Ted – let’s call him Ted – was perfect. ...
Green is the color of the icing on my brother, Jeffy’s chocolate cake. It’s also the color of his entire face now after he let it drop into the middle ...
Gahanna, OH. Photo by Paul Sableman.
“Every true story ends in death.”
Part I
This is not a true story, but some parts really ...
for Daniel Hawker, a smith.
The smithy at Lea was a squat building made of stones piled on top of one another without much apparent care. Inside I saw a jumble ...
Photo by Sarchi.
She was a rather peculiar woman, who lived alone. Life lingered in her slipper shuffles across carpeted rooms. Her home was plumped silent, the solitary loomed. Her purple ...
It’s not stopping, this hugging. I saw it again tonight passing the kitchen, his noodle arms gliding from that batik robe as he stooped into her warm and willing hold. ...
My mother’s rule was to never stand in the bottom third of our garden. Vampires were there. To brush past the miscanthus, the pennisetum, would be to conjure damnation, and ...
When the answer to whether or not you want to have kids is ‘maybe.’
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The brittles are the best things since bitcoin and Netflix.
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All or nothing.
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