by Christine Garren
We were passionate enough
to become text. Everyone was,
underneath the orderliness
that comes with filing and cross-referencing . . .
by Scott Schrader
“Are you a witch?”
Once more Brudita was taken aback by the girl.
When it was clear that Brudita had no answer, the girl faltered, “I don’t mean to be rude.” Her lowered lashes shifted, and she covered a bruise on her knee with a thin white hand.
by Robert Liddell
“It’s a fine day for tennis,” Win said. He was wearing linen slacks and a pair of Cole Haan loafers with no socks. I knew they were Cole Haans because he told me. “I adore Cole Haans,” he said, as though they were a pair of soft leather kittens. “Like sex on the feet.”
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