Flat Tires by Douglas Colby

The doors open slowly. It is the middle of January. The windows seem to be frosted over. The doors separating room A from room B are two sliding barn doors, and they open slowly. The flat track runs smoothly. One need be careful that the bottom doesn’t run out; a tricky maneuver like guiding meat along a shackling chain. ...READ MORE

The Prerogative of the Dead by Zak Block

Midway of two o'clock Arthur could have sworn he beheld some marked acceleration of productivity among the workers. Though occupationally sprightly and light on their paradoxically broad, flat feet, the aboriginal-American beam-jumpers could be seen to attend to their death-defying tasks with an uncommon alacrity.

"Stoned Pigeons" by Cheryl Spinner

Haym Solomon Square.

It’s not going anywhere anytime soon, and it knows it.

"What the Story Was" by Kendall Defoe

Maybe I was dreaming before the service, the earlier sitting
for a wake still in my mind. All of the guests (very Catholic)
would not weep from their seats. They were just “Amen”-ing
under their breaths, undulating with their fans, and sick
with the urge to leave the room, with a quick
gesture of hands on hearts, chests held tight.

Grassland by Derek Brown

When I was eight I used to imagine each blade of grass in my grandmother’s backyard was a skyscraper, and her lawn an endless city. I’d go out of my way to find tiny barren patches in the lawn and give them names similar to Central Park—Park Central, City Center Park, Middle Park, or whatever. There were numerous “Central Parks” in my city. I’d imagine the city’s population to be well over a billion. And each yard on the block was another city, each with its own untold billions. But my city was easily one hundred New York Cities combined, thus deserving however many parks it wanted.

Our Heroes, PART TWO by Troy Prichard

Tuesday looks both the Queen and Java Junky in the eye as he calmly replies “Any woman can get naked by herself. But when it comes time to get dressed and feel every bit as good as you look that’s where we come in. Women are walking, talking works of art and we are in our own way art lovers.”