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”
Category Archives: fiction
Under the Poncho
I wrote a story and it’s smaller than a breadbox. It’s currently nesting at the cozy website below: A Thin Slice of Anxiety
The Fictitious Kid
She had a fictitious kid. We were sitting on her porch, drinking Ballantine Ale out of a grubby Styrofoam cooler with missing pieces. A slow moat surrounded the leaking cooler, expanding with the gradual melt. In front of us was a narrow strip of dirt and crabgrass scattered with worn out toys. Her fictitious kidContinue reading “The Fictitious Kid”
96th of October
I’m pleased to reveal that a new story of mine has just been published and if you want to spend a few minutes moving your eyes across my words, you can do it here: 96th of October
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”
Crumbling Asphalt 