• Fiction

    Nobody Knew

    Nobody knew the things about you that I knew. I knew where you were that time when you called and asked if I knew where you were. I said I didn't, but I did. The connection was good enough that I didn't even have to pretend it sounded like a local call and not like a call from London.

  • Fiction

    Decrepit

    I remember walking through a decrepit city. I am not alone. I do not remember who I am with, adult or child. Wife or child. Both, but only one. Both in one person, a conflation, an amalgamation, an imagination. My wife when she is younger than she is now, but older than a child, the child one of mine, no…

  • Fiction

    Catching Fever

    Robert Fever awoke on cold cement feeling like he had been run over by a car. He winced as he sat up. By the shifting light of the naked bulb that swayed above him, Robert saw that he was down in his own basement. Dusty, uninviting workout machines provided the room's only furniture. Several campaign posters that read "CATCH THE…

  • Fiction

    You Alone

    A pane of glass separated us. You were out on the street and I was in a hotel lobby. You were walking by like an ivory tower on heels. Your dark brown hair fell lightly on your shoulders, your bosom bounced subtly, your hips swayed. And then you did something I never expected; you looked at me directly in the…

  • Fiction

    Jerry and his New Shoes

    Heel-toe, heel-toe, thought Jerry as he walked down the sidewalk. His new shoes felt like cinder blocks tied to his feet. They were were shiny and black and rather handsome looking, but it wasn't until Jerry had gotten home from buying them that he saw the soles were extremely thick--nearly three inches. Good lord, thought Jerry, I'm over six feet…

  • Fiction

    Burqas

    It was late in the day and golden sunlight poured into the apartment living room. Carl was sitting on the couch, idly picking near-microscopic pieces of lint from his black pants.

  • Fiction

    Birth of a Solipsist

    I was on my lunch break one cold afternoon when I had life-changing realization. It hit me like a spoon that cracks an egg, and my yolk seemed to spill and fill up the world--indeed, become the world. I would apologize to you if you found my words confusing, but I don't find them confusing myself, and in a moment…

  • Fiction

    The Cellist

    Dimitri stood on a door step in a suburban neighborhood on a quiet Sunday afternoon. He pulled a piece of paper from his tuxedo jacket and checked the numbers on the house, and then checked his watch. He pounded a sinewy fist against the door. A crash came from inside. And then the sound of furniture being moved, and then…