By Alan Berger Which is worse? Living in a shit neighborhood with great neighbors? Or living in a great neighborhood with shit neighbors? This was the riddle that was driving William Hollister nuts. For him it was the latter with…
By: The Birch Twins Into the hold. Regular readers of the chronicles of my accounts with the barbarian will recall that Skarr and I, having traveled to her homeland in the Jerraldor mountains to see the wailing wall and the…
By: Bruce Levine Jenny spoke. It was a language only she understood because she’d made it up herself. Actually she wasn’t the only one who understood it, her dog, an Australian Shepherd named Daisy, seemed to understand her as well…
By: Gaither Stewart Cane spears, rat poison, BB guns, M191 8A2 machine guns. Such were the moments of Sinclair Sherrill’s life. His mother told reporters that she always knew it would end in tragedy. Though we grew up on the…
By Dan O’Neill Lydia Graham, the most prominent critic, social commentator and sexual adventuress of the 1970s,was actually born in Helena, Montana as Mary Quinn. She chose her first name from the song “Lydia The Tattooed Lady” from the Marx…
By: Jack Coey Judson walked by the funeral parlor and read the sign: Foley Funeral Parlor: Cremations & Burials. He was in his seventies and alone in the world. He’d left Laura and his son in his early fifties for a waitress…
By: Jim Bates If Will Stevens cared what other people thought or even took the time to think about it, he’d probably figure that people would think he was nuts, spending his days sweeping the sidewalks of the little town…
By Harrison Abbott He had figured the enormous slabs of blue and green would calm his retired self. An old, wealthy man watching the mountains from his windows. A new house within which to enjoy a new life, free of…
By: Rebekah Aran The friendship began with not a single thing, but a handful of moments– a look from across the store while working a particularly long shift–a hello in the hallway. Things that you’d take for granted. Years later,…
By: Mason Bushell His was the fourteenth post from the gate. The crow always perched there amid the barbs of the wire fence between the ditch and the field. Today the mists descended like an eerie curtain closing at dusk….