December 1, 2011 | Fiction
My boss’s dealer was an Israeli guy named Amir who lived in Highland Park with his girlfriend and drove a Porsche. I met him one... more
We All Participate In Our Own Self-Manifested Stories: An Interview with David Meiklejohn, Director of My Heart is an Idiot
Its been... more
Alan Stewart Carl
The Mayor, after several days of grieving, emerged from his hacienda at the hour that was once called lunch. He passed his guards, then slowly—laboriously—carried his voluminous frame through the streets, stopping at the square's one remaining café and ordering a well-cooked steak. The sun glared down from the cloudless sky and illuminated the Mayor, capturing him in full as he spread himself across a stool and held his knife and fork in a rehearsed display of indefatigable hope. There was still meat, he wanted the people to see. There was still a mayor. There was still a town, present and alive in that square.
Dark Sky is a fine new publisher whose books are strange... more
The epigraph to Alex Shakar’s Luminarium could be a request or a... more
Kevin Wilson is the author of a story collection, Tunneling to the Center of the Earth(Ecco/Harper Perennial, 2009), and a novel, The Family Fang (Ecco, 2011). He lives and teaches in Sewanee, TN.Kevin Wilson is the author of a story collection, Tunneling to the Center of the Earth(Ecco/Harper Perennial, 2009), and a novel, The Family Fang (Ecco, 2011). He lives and teaches in Sewanee, TN.
The Vanishing Ball Player Moses Cage (1960 - ?) My hands, nets. My... more