House

Right before I caved and called Dad, his work called. They never do that. The woman’s voice was warm but strange, shaky at the end of sentences.

Slaughter

It’s hard to find good help these days. Before lunch, I knew the new guy they brought in wouldn’t cut it. His hands shook when I handed him the bolt gun.

Unfilled

“Fuck,” the Con Artist said. The stack of fake IDs he’d been holding flew wild, into the dirt, lamination gleaming in the mid-morning sun.

Ruminants

Mike’s getting pretty good shots. The composition’s solid, with the street spinning out into the distant desert.

diary, leatherbound

Nasty cold spell early in the season. Forgot about this thing until I got to lookin for tinder. Sure I won’t need those last three pages.