The Invitation

My dearest, I'm writing to ask you to my wedding on the 15th. Her name is Roslyn. You don't know her.  I don't wish for you to receive this news as a rebuff. It is possible to be two things at once. Like you. What was that name you insist your mother gave you in …

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Drakkar (A Noir)

"Darling Jesse," she says—her voice is a bassoonist playing in the back of a concert hall—and then she ashes her cigarette into a waiting urinal.  The wide brim of her sun hat and her five-o-clock shadow obscure her face, but I recognize the mole on her right bicep just below the hem of her puff sleeve. "Where've you …

The Art of Distraction

“SO IS THIS WHAT YOU DO HERE—make Rube Goldberg machines?” Jacob said, after I’d spread string, scissors, plastic cups, and a few small peg boards across the breakroom counter. He was sitting at the table eating a sandwich and fries from a styrofoam box. I watched as his paisley tie dipped into ketchup. That's how new he …

The Chemical Cure

The doctor jokes these injections will give me powers like in the comic books—that when I'm sorted I’ll slap away bullets for a bird—but my cheeks still flush for any right fit bloke. My gaze still clings to square jaws.

Vanity

Rosalyn sits at her vanity. She is staring into the mirror with the intensity of someone who relies on her looks for a living. Her slip shimmers in the bright light. As she raises a slender brush to her cheek, she decides she will ask Harvey tonight. She will do it like she does most things—coolly, as though speaking …