Soon enough, living in a house that did not connect on any real level with the surrounding community--its assumptions, laws, and dialogues--I figured the best way to exist in a fragmented reality and abide by its dissonance was to make myself a fragment, a live sliver of what I might otherwise have been physically, spiritually, mentally or intellectually, a job I had done well by age fifteen...
Read MoreSelf-Portrait, Fourteen Miles and Twenty-Three Minutes from the Interstate by Daniel Garcia
Of time, there’s this: the pink stripes around the neck in the mirror after, which was the most surprising—as if to mimic the sky was as simple as pulling its color into one’s cheeks.
Read MoreCosmic Latte by Ron Huett
This is my introduction to the word and the last time I will ever speak it against another black person.
Read MoreStick After Stick by Joe Griffin
We pulled into the yard and sat in the pickup for a moment, idling in park. 'That was a fucking thing,' said Rob in a low tone. I looked at him, nodding in mute reverence.
Read MoreThe Fall by Morgan Riedl
The fear of heights is more common in women, but I inherited my fear from my father. He fell out of my life’s orbit when I was 8. I have a hard time safely locating myself in space and time, so I orient myself in relation to others: my father (before he left), my mom (before I left).
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