Stories

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

Greg took off his sweat-stained Blue Dicks hat and wiped his brow with his forearm. That goddamn song.

“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.

Calvin started going to the diner as an escape. He wanted to avoid church, but his parents made him promise to acknowledge God, His presence, at least once a week.

The truth is I don’t expect them to show up at all. I’m used to getting blown off. It’s basic as hell—New Kid Blues, et cetera, et cetera.

Bianca didn’t have time to stuff the hundred-dollar bill into her pocket before Luis came in to check her register. 

The preparations required ingredients she didn’t like clients to see. Most disliked what they saw.

It was a short enough walk to the usual haunt. Too short, almost; certainly not long enough to forget the cows.

Took a single button. An hour later I started seeing big swirls of color, then feeling slightly nauseous.