Christopher Dungey/Fiction

Christopher Dungey/Fiction

Krista Mangulsone photo *** Right on Through By Christopher Dungey Glennie Milford rolled to a sitting position on the lumpy rooming-house mattress. A twinge of the North Korean shrapnel lodged behind his right meniscus reminded him about the weather. Classes at...

Monique Quintana/Fiction

counter girl by Monique Quintana There was a cute girl that checked us in at the counter. I liked her dimples the best, the way they dipped. I wanted to stick my pinky finger in them. They were so cute. She gave us the key for room 119. She was the best thing about...

Charles Edward Brooks/Fiction

FORTY WHACKS   by Charles Edward Brooks My soul is a hidden orchestra; I know not what instruments, what fiddlestrings and harps,  drums and tambours I sound and clash inside myself. All I hear is the symphony. —Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet  ...

Rosalia Scalia/Fiction

MOTHER’S DRESSER   by Rosalia Scalia In the evening, after dinner, the grownups drink espresso laced with Sambuca or anisette, the aromas of licorice, of anise, of coffee rising up like extended fingers and mingling with whiffs of garlic, tomato, and basil,...

The Interview, by Allan Shapiro

  the interview   by Allan Shapiro The handshake. So when I go to shake his hand, making sure to look him in the eyes and smile as I do, I call him Albert. My name is Albert. I say “Hi, Albert. I’m Alfred.” He’s Alfred. I’m Albert. Alfred says...