Short Story
Dirt Road Dirtbags
It was Saturday. And I love Saturdays. My friend Libby’s dad takes her to church on Saturdays. And Polly’s dad takes her to museums. And
It was Saturday. And I love Saturdays. My friend Libby’s dad takes her to church on Saturdays. And Polly’s dad takes her to museums. And
I talk to myself. I have to. No one else will listen. No one else understands. Even if they did, I wouldn’t dare expose
Crying, I recall my father shudders, remembering tall thin men at the foot of the bed apparitions at night, faceless heads like pins, mostly arms,
I have not always had my medication to protect me from epilepsy, to keep my hand steady while I handled boiling grease and kitchen
An independent literary magazine for contemporary fiction, thought, and opinion about popular culture, society, and everything on the periphery.
