by John Mann
He decides to join up. Age not
relevant this time. They told
him somebody’s butt needed
kicking. . . .
by Laura-Rose Russell
My arrangement with Ed was informal, to say the least. When I had approached him about setting up a yurt and living on his land, he saw a chance to have a pair of eyes and ears on his satellite farm . . . . Once I was established on the land, Ed called every week or two to ask about snowdrifts and downed trees, the state of the fences, and whether or not I had seen any deer. I never lied to him, but I often waited until after I had read the tracks to call.
by John Fried
Two college seniors sit in a café in a Midwestern college town. Crowds of people pour in to escape the snow. The boy and girl know each other well, and they don’t. They have been together for seven weeks. Their understanding of each other centers on past love lives, confusion about the future, and a vast exploration of each other’s bodies. They need something to move the relationship forward, or it will die.
by Kurt Rheinheimer
But here, in the white chair where he sits every evening, he could be on the bench between innings, waiting to hit or to jog back out to center. Anything in the world could happen just now, is what he feels when he is in the chair, when the lawn is wet and the golden color of early evening surrounds him as if it could be youth itself.
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