PART ONE by J. Bradley

Dancing with Steinbrenner 

PART ONE by J. Bradley

THE SERVER at Acapulco's gently places a kid-size poolful glass of margarita on my table, the periscope of a straw staring into me. I pluck it out, lick the part of the straw soaking in margarita, then sip, watching grains of salt float into my mouth slowly. It burns away the knots in my neck and back. I look at the menu for something that won't punch me in the stomach later. ...READ MORE

A History of the Russian Revolution by Stephen Baily

“To think of the red flag actually flying over the Winter Palace. . . .”

My grandfather rested his right hand, which held the scissors and the comb, on his left bicep. He folded his left hand over his right forearm and eased the fingers into his right armpit. With a wondering expression he looked over the back of Trotsky's head, into the mirror on the wall opposite.

Relic by Sparrow Crain

“Picturesque desert, giving way to bountiful oceans all at your grasp!” the automated tour guide gushed as the tram came to a stop. In times past, multitudes of people stepped off the tram into this resort. There were no people left. None that were entirely people, that is. War had been declared, both sides running into battle with all weapons raised. What had been first a game between two governments became death for all, with a few exceptions. The resort was known by no name anymore, the large sign at the entrance had long been whitewashed from age and sun exposure. It stood at the highest point in the world, on the only continent that made this world’s entire geography. The opportunities here had been endless, if you could pay the price for them. A giant pool of water once held a miracle cure for any ailment! How about the famous musician who held court here, singing every night in the lounge?

Ball Peen Hammer by Zak Block

There was, at first, the skeletal outline of a history, fragmentary and awfully biased, something like the sum total of actually conceivably recollectable events witnessed or directly participated in; paraphrasable, nearly-memorizable-for-their-terseness-dialogues exchanged; what someone wore, somewhere; what it meant; did it become him or her in that milieu, whatever it might have been; what it made her feel, for instance, meeting him in front of the Angelika theater with her new school friends; he, appearing in a rugby shirt and a freshly skinned head, clearly off his meds, whatever they were at the time...

[letter to applebees] by Gina Tron

I am writing to complain about the lack of attractiveness in your establishment. Not only was the hostess rotund but so were the gaggle of waitresses. I brought my son there for a specific reason, and that reason was to collect a wife. My son possesses a suitable weight and pride in appearance and I am honored to say that not one female thing (because that’s what they looked like, in my humble opinion) met his expectations. Nor did they meet mine.

"chapters and chapters" by Lindsey M. Brummerhop

she hasn't worn shoes in days.