I have changed his name, because he’s a real goat. He’s a celebrity, but I don’t think he’ll sue me. I doubt he’ll be reading this. Still.
My Celebrity Goat by Jane Ciabattari
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Issue #2
In Heels by Hobie Anthony
She left her shoes on the corner every time she took me up to her room. The desk clerk had been paid off so that she could walk barefoot whenever she wanted.
The Boy Ran in the Street by Ann Bogle
The boy ran in the street. The boy ran faster than the breed dog. The boy knew a few dogs. The boy had no feeling against dogs.
First Time by Grant Faulkner
Gerard sat next to the old woman at the hotel bar, staring at the soft creases around her eyes as if they were exotic etchings.
Compassion by Peter Cherches
A man who looked like my mother with a mustache told me I must be on the wrong line. Isn’t this the line for compassion?
Waxing or Waning by Sarah Freligh
You are driving on the lake road toward Canada when an orange moon presents itself to you, plump and juicy as ripe fruit.
Brighten by Christopher Locke
It’s nearly morning. The sun climbs its invisible chord and slats the walls between the blinds.
Sunbather by Nicholas Cook
The sky is squeegeed cloudless. He’s seeing a sunbather on the side. I picture her breasts, skin burnt by tar paper on the roof.
Why You Move to New York, v. mid-80s by Steve Adams
Because you saw Midnight Cowboy and Taxi Driver and The Panic in Needle Park, and connected to the disturbing beauty beneath the horror, the dangers, something you needed to see and taste, something hard enough to wake you from the slumber of the small town you’d grown up in, and then Austin, where you’d moved afterward; a place that had frightened you at first.