A rotund miller and a young squire were perched upon a soft bench surrounded by other locals, engaged in an eventful conversation regarding the deposition of king and court by peasants and townsfolk in the face of hastened deterioration of living conditions.

Visitation by Troy Prichard

Anxiously the young boy stares through the sliding glass door. Piercing the everydayness of the parking lot he has become accustomed to. A fervent almost desperate hope fuels the search for his Dad. Tommy hasn’t seen him in over two months. For a growing boy that is a really long time. Everything has changed since then. His Mom is different; her boyfriend Rick is different, and now even the place Tommy lives is different.
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There was a guy who pointed at another guy and said, “Damn you” at him.
That really doesn’t seem like such a big deal until you realize
The powerful kings / gods / dead sons / traumas
That this whole thing tied into
With our community never having been quite overcome by the total logic
Of Pakeha dumb anti-meaning.

Don't fuck it up.
I won't fuck it up.
Seriously. Don't.
I won't.
Grab the tail and help me push him in.

I sat heavily under the weight of my burdens, how the race of humanity has too sat idly by as their brothers and sisters in species die the slow death we call life which I’ll never understand. The lounge gave gently away under me like a splendid cloud as I suspiciously eyed my brown leather journal with that strap I’d attached rather hastily the previous summer.

Anxiously the young boy stares through the sliding glass door. Piercing the everydayness of the parking lot he has become accustomed to. A fervent almost desperate hope fuels the search for his Dad.

Tommy hasn’t seen him in over two months. For a growing boy that is a really long time. Everything has changed since then. His Mom is different; her boyfriend Rick is different, and now even the place Tommy lives is different.

New York Romance by Cynthia Drew

“...CLASSY, SASSY LASSIE seeks edgy guy with ambition. Must like a blonde her therapist calls ‘a lot of woman’ …”

Craigslist New York

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David was on his hands and knees spreading the last bag of mulch across the flowerbed. His forearms looked like wet hot dogs roasting on a wire rack, flecked with dark patches of dirt. I watched him finish while I poured the last of my water bottle onto my head, letting the cool trickle run over my face. My arms had gotten badly sunburnt, and I was sure that my neck would begin to throb and feel tender against the rub of my shirt. My skin wasn’t used to the sun the way David’s was.

“Cli-tor-isssssss,” Reva said, long and articulated enough for Judd to get the hint this time.

In the supermarket the gray-haired father frisked the green-butter lettuce heads, and at the moment of nomination the vegetable sprinklers, timed to go off, showered satiny mist on his round hairy hand. Evan was standing beside him and snickered behind his teeth, realizing that grocery shopping with his father would not be as awkward as he originally thought.

“…classy, sassy lassie seeks edgy guy with ambition. Must like a blonde her therapist calls ‘a lot of woman’ …” Craigslist New York