• Objects in the Overhead Bin May Shift During Travel

    Objects in the Overhead Bin May Shift During Travel

    Alexandra Morean is currently getting her BA in writing, editing, and publishing as well as music production. She was born in Venezuela and grew up in Miami, Florida, soaking in all kinds of culture and inspiration.

  • Pulled Over

    Pulled Over

    by Christopher Bell “I still don’t know what to do with that spare room.” Elaine let her fingers edge in and out of the window. “I mean, it can’t just be for all that shit we don’t wanna deal with.” “I thought that’s why we got the two bedroom.” Tim drove faster than usual in […]

  • Playing Favorites

    Playing Favorites

    by Jason Graff There’s still time before lunch, so I tuck the day-old bagel back into the bag. Back when Randolph McLeigh owned the bakery, he gave away day-olds. I hate to see such a nice young man get a ticket. More so than the Irish fellow. I pinch a couple dimes from my change […]

  • Dorothy Parker

    Dorothy Parker

    by Jason Graff Dorothy Parker was funny in a cruel way which I think made us like her all the more, especially mother, who saw herself as some gutsy, wise, old truth teller of the old school. Now it’s really easy to see she was just mean and unhappy, possibly with us; definitely with father […]

  • Bau

    Bau

    by Grace Yannotta The dog sits in the corner of the room. She looks like one of those pharaoh dogs, Suze thinks, the lithe golden body, the sharp ears, the keen dark eyes. The ones that line the tombs of the olden kings. The protectors. She knows she’s not supposed to stare, the poor thing […]

  • Collecting

    Collecting

    by Trista Hurley-Waxali When he said we were moving in, I wasn’t sure what he meant. Most of our friends were demolishing and then rebuilding, so it wasn’t so much as moving in but entering a perfectly designed space. At least, that was the promise that architects have when they competed like football teams for the […]

  • Cafone

    Cafone

    by Salvatore Difalco When my father was in the late stages of terminal lung cancer — chemo and two operations had not slowed it down — a group of his friends came to our house to visit him. They had been drinking. Giacchino Palmieri, his godson, the loudest among them, slurred and slobbered greetings to my father, who was […]

  • Forgive Us

    Forgive Us

    by Salvatore Difalco “Ma,” my sister said, “we’re taking you to an appointment. We have to be there at ten o’clock. Do you understand, ma?” Maria, the oldest of my cousins, had come along for support. My mother trusted her. She smiled at Maria; her eyes looked bluer than usual that day, eyes that had […]