Author Archives: Hank Kirton

Unidentified Flying Object

We’re sitting on her porch, the trusty Styrofoam cooler between us. There’s a broken hole in the lid now. It was an accident. I’m drinking 32-ounce cans of Colt 45 malt liquor. I love the buzz but it always gives me a headache-heavy hangover. I believe it’s worth it.    She’s drinking peach wine coolers forContinue reading “Unidentified Flying Object”

The Smell of Flies

We sat. The Styrofoam cooler was there with Pabst Blue Ribbon tallboys. It was like drinking canned tap water. I stretched my legs and a fly buzzed between us.  “Ugh, a fly,” she said, waving it away. “I hate the smell of flies.” “The smell of flies?” “Yeah.” “Flies don’t smell.” “Hell if they don’t.Continue reading “The Smell of Flies”

The Umbrax Shift

It’s five o’clock. We’re sitting on her front porch, drinking peppermint schnapps with warm Hawaiian Punch chasers. Somehow, for some reason, she acquired six cases of Hawaiian Punch juice boxes. That’s two hundred and six individual drinks. None of the boxes include those little bendy straws on the back, so we’ve been poking open theContinue reading “The Umbrax Shift”

A Zima Buzz

We’re sitting on her front porch again, drinking foul Zima she’d picked up somewhere. I didn’t think they even made it anymore. Maybe they don’t and these bottles were sitting in a forgotten storeroom for thirty years. It tastes like it. We have eight of the awful things on ice in the usual Styrofoam coolerContinue reading “A Zima Buzz”

The Appointment

“Please, take a seat.” “Where? Which one?” “Either one is fine. Whichever one looks more comfortable.” “Okay. Thanks.” “It’s good to finally meet you, Adam. Put a face to the name. We could have done this over the phone but I like to see the people I work with face to face. At least atContinue reading “The Appointment”

American Pagans

Becky had been spending a lot of time in the company of a girl with the antique name, Edna. Edna Rosenberg.  Edna “Ravenchild” Rosenberg. “Ravenchild?” “Yeah, we’re all picking pagan names. What do you think?” “I don’t know,” Becky admitted. “I’m supposed to come up with something like that?” “Yeah. We all are.” “Ravenchild?” “Ravenchild.Continue reading “American Pagans”

A Cold Breakfast

I was young once and it lasted a good long mile. Like my grandfather before me. You may have heard of my grandfather if you’re a true crime enthusiast. He became an infamous spree killer way back in 1957. His transition was sudden.  In 2003, some talentless hack cobbled together a short documentary on myContinue reading “A Cold Breakfast”