Category Archives: fiction

Adipocere

The story begins…. Becky stood on the rocky shore listening to the edges of the ocean. The lap and scatter of small seaweed-laden waves. She’d hoped the sudden change in environment would loosen the choking, unremitting clench of her life. Therapy wasn’t going well. Her therapist (Nancy) suggested this trip. She (Nancy) said that gettingContinue reading “Adipocere”

Barbara Payton at the Purple Dandelion

And a disembodied narrator says:  He was in an LA club called The Purple Dandelion. It was 1967. Longhairs were dancing to the elastic music of The Chocolate Watch Band. He was sitting at the bar between a grubby little man who smelled of the street and Barbara Payton, who smelled of the street andContinue reading “Barbara Payton at the Purple Dandelion”

Hollywood

“Before we start—I’m sorry, toots—what’s your name again?”  “Beekeeper.” “Okay, Mavis. I just want to tell you that I’m not gonna talk about my marriage. Y’know. To you-know-who…” “Banana?” “Because I’m not here to provide material for the gossip rags. It’s nobody’s goddamn business. Hedda Hopper can go pound sand up her ass—pardon my French.”Continue reading “Hollywood”

Mike & Pete & Tanya

This is only what was told to me. When Mike Sturm learned that Petey Magritte had passed away, he told his wife, Diane, “The ranks are thinning,” and she nodded and went back to her scandal magazine. Mike had known Petey Magritte since they attended second grade together in 1975. Mrs. Gallini’s class. In theContinue reading “Mike & Pete & Tanya”

Pull Me Apart and Analyze the Pieces

Shelly pinched a nit between her index finger and thumb and then carefully slid it down her long strands of hair until it released at the end.  She held it in a firm pinch-grip and transferred it to the stark white void of the bedsheet. It was like a little operating theater. She wished forContinue reading “Pull Me Apart and Analyze the Pieces”

A Bruised Ego

Ted Hanscomb hadn’t been feeling so great lately. Loneliness and the weight of age were pressing down on him like a device in a dungeon. When he awoke in the afternoon (he worked third shift) the encroaching day felt drastic in some vague way. Like a last chance at something. His repetitive daily schedule wasContinue reading “A Bruised Ego”

Mortified

We’re sitting on the porch again, drinking spiced rum and Red Bull. Her dirty bare feet rest on an ottoman of three stacked tires. She waves a fly away from her face and says, “I’ve been evaluating myself.” “Oh yeah?” I say after a sip of my rapidly warming drink. We’re drinking out of StyrofoamContinue reading “Mortified”