Fiction

Excerpt from The Artificial Silk Girl

Downstairs from us lives Herr Brenner, who can't see anymore--no shops or checkered lights or modern advertising or anything at all.

Ms. Munch

To: Cynthia Munch, Comptroller, Grants Division From: Mitch Kakuski Ronald McDonald Foundation Helmsley/AMC Gitford Hotel

The Drink

Then, the real customers started to wander down from the Ponte Garibaldi and the Ponte Sisto. After half an hour, the patch of sand between the embankment and the floating platform was as busy as an ant-hill. Nando1 was sitting on the swing, his back to me. He was about ten years old, scrawny and misshapen, with a large tuft of blond hair above his narrow face, on which a large mouth smiled brightly.

The Dogfish

Romolé careened into the city marketplace. He was pedaling hard, staring straight ahead without looking right or left; he had decided that if a cop yelled at him to show his permit, he would pretend not to hear.

Close Reading

It’s too brutal to believe. To suck it down till it stews spoils in my gut.

Manifest Destiny

I’ve been working steady now for two years, since I finished high school. I throw tires at Klemen’s Tire Wholesale.

Arabesque for Sauquoit #2

Bill looked up at the faint shadows the candlelight projected on the ceiling of his study and whispered, “People need illusions, it gives them a sense of security.”

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AUTUMN 2002

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