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Fiction

from Kid Coole

Maybe it’s not your fault but ours, Billy Farts said. It is our problem. We are your corner. It is our job to guide you into your own corner and onto the stool as quickly as possible. Your job is to fight for three minutes. Our job is to take care of you for the minute between the rounds. The more of the one-minute that you rest and we can work on you, the better our man fights. Am I right, Mike White?

Chest Full Of Cantlets

Parzival talked to God every hour, the tone becoming less and less formal. Eventually, all prayers sound childish. He named an imaginary creature Baby Jesus to push around in a wheelbarrow half the day. He thought of this as a kind of worship as well as a little game.

Money

Drebel started when he was fourteen organizing a grocery shopping service for the elderly in his neighborhood. He charged a flat rate per bag, accepted gratuities, and handled the cash exchange between the grocery store and the old people.

The Hand Bag

Unlike many of you, who were born out of love, I was created from refined jealousy. My creator’s name is Alina and she lives in a village in southern Romania. I remember her being a beautiful dark haired, almond eyed lady. It was from her that I found out what made Penelope weave that canvas.

The Trouble With Recording Joy

The band hailed from upstate. Davis heard them for the first time underground one morning at 34th Street Station, a few months after he arrived in the city. He was living in the back of a British expat’s apartment, a space accessible only through a hobbit-sized door from the bathroom off the main stairwell.

Tragic Strip

Imagine a country village nestled in a lush river valley, flanked by steeply sloping mountains.

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The Brooklyn Rail

JUL-AUG 2015

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