The gourmand had eaten everything. Former restaurant reviewer for the local newspaper, he was as familiar with sautéed crickets as with eel bladders and haggis.
Julian by Nathan Leslie
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Issue #36
The Crust by Nathan Leslie
Wayne liked the idea of hiding something within, a little surprise to be discovered by whoever was lucky (or unlucky) enough to receive that particular slice of pie.
I Don’t Know What Wind Is by Chris Scott
Approximately thirty seconds before dismissal, one of my first graders asks me what wind is. I freeze up, sixteen first grade faces watching me, they all suddenly want to know what wind is, right now, right this moment. I’m 41 years old, and I honestly have no idea.
We Stutter Less When We Sing by Nora Nadjarian
It was raining and he was sad and tall. He was waiting for the Facebook woman to appear, it was all arranged.
Marc by Nathan Leslie
Was a big man and unafraid. Six foot five, two ninety seven–he felt as though he was invulnerable. He would do it all–jump out of an airplane, roller coasters galore, cliff diving, spelunking, guns, motorcycles, hand gliding, drink anyone under the table.
What Chekhov Meant to Tell Me by Jill Bronfman
Anton and I were in school together, and while he was a year younger than me, he seemed like an old man to me.
Love Spell by Kat Gonso
My brother leaves Alabama for Philadelphia to be a bone broth barista because it’s cooler to sip
liquified bones than a Starbucks pumpkin latte, and leaving your family for a fad isn’t a betrayal.
It’s summer, and Ada Lynn obsesses over any boy with armpit hair.
In Another World by Robert McBrearty
My son and my nephew, in their early thirties, both scientists, were sitting in my kitchen drinking and talking about going to Mars, while I stood at the stove flipping burgers.
The Monster Baby Has Acquired a Taste for Oysters by Kim Murdock
It’s a weird brag, but that’s what the parents tell me. Though they don’t say monster. They say, Shuck him another!
Shit Brick by Jack Barrie
Shit brick. That’s what my cousin Harry called it. He’s from Oxford. Nice down there. All the brick that way has a lovely gold-cream color to it, but I like our shit brick better.
Kingfisher by Rebecca Croser
My husband and I have our backs to the sea, fixed as we are on the puzzle. Plywood, 527 pieces, laser-cut with bird whimsies.
Background Noise by Peter DeMarco
Henry lived inside the lie of the film set. He was an actor, not really an actor, but an extra.
Me and Barnaby, Alone by Travis Flatt
For the week after the shipwreck, the Strongman and I lived off bananas, but he got sick off some tropical bug from bad stream water he guzzled uncooked.
It Never Really Happened by Jaime Gill
Guillem arrives late, as always, rapid-firing apologies at his boss as he bustles through the beach bar and pulls on his apron. He stops at my table first, pointing to my near-empty glass. “Another beer, Miss?” Miss. Sweet, when I’m old enough to be his mother.
And So Betwixt the Two of Us, We Licked the Platter Clean by Mikki Aronoff
We first locked eyes near the hog offal stall at Brigsbee Market. His wiry frame bent over me like an inchworm in heat. When he smiled, I saw rotten teeth.