By: Tamara White I She sits And waits. The Angel Trumpet of the Bar Her bloom is full, her vibrant coloring flawless. No sharp edges just soft lines flowing seamlessly together to create her seductiveness. Waist is narrow like a delicate…

By: Bob Kalkreuter The shots were sudden and clear, crisp as breaking sticks. Gary Eason flinched. For a moment Stewart’s lips got pale, his eyes went wild, and he muttered, “Goddamn…” They were both in Gary’s boat. Gary was fishing, but…

By: Tom Sheehan They kicked in then, at sight of the wild-eyed gunman on the Greyhound bus moving into Vermont and on to Canada, my other lives, the separate and strange ones, spinning back through me, each one of them,…

By: Tom Sheehan When asked to read to celebrate my new book of memoirs, I let the audience enter the cubicle from where the work came. I told them: I’ll celebrate with you by telling you what I know, how…