Jenna pulls a pink plastic-wrapped wand out of her purse and sets it down on that container where you’re supposed to dispose of pads and tampons—that steel box ...
I am mass. I am momentum. I am a big, shuddering kind of a man, arms swinging and trembling muscles in my red spandex. I am wroth, I am masculinity, I am ...
She was halving apricots when the phone began. Private Caller. The handset vibrated urgently in her palm. Probably some company trying to scam her into believin...
We once left a shard of glass in a drink for his father. Such rage we must have felt. This was after college, after a lot of things, Brownie and I bartending at...
I see: everything. Yefim’s fist, French fries jutting between tattooed fingers. He scans the line, yellow-green eyes sharpening, tickets under plates. One thing...
Most people are intimidated by anything that remotely resembles electricity. They behave as if even when an item is unplugged, electrodes remain inside and, at...
Mykhail Kruchevich
had hit his wife only once. Whether he had then considered her possible
response, he could not now remember, nor could he recall what had pr...
When he presses her up against the cool ceramic sink, her arms plunge into the water. He lifts up her patchwork pinafore, the one that ties oh-so-loosely at th...
One
Put away your story. Carefully. Snugly. Don’t tell your family; don’t tell the world. Someday, tell a therapist. Someday, tell your writer’s group. But not ...
On the verge of this, that, or some other thing, Charlotte draws up short in the dining room, all way forward barred by the image of a knife left out on th...
