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I Have This Thing About Being Wrong
Fiction by George Singleton My neighbor couldn’t put a four-piece puzzle of Florida together, but he’d been likable. We never talked politics or religion, or history, literature, television shows that don’t involve a laugh-track, music, baseball, health insurance, how America is supposed to be welcoming to immigrants. Reese’s the weatherman, six and eleven, for one…
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Say Hi
by Shome Dasgupta I have three guitars but I don’t know how to play any of them—or rather I can play three chords and I like to joke and say that I can play one chord for each guitar. I don’t have any musical talent—I can’t play any instruments, I can’t sing, and I lack…
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Throwing Pennies
Creative Nonfiction by Cassie Mannes Murray When the ultrasound technician adjusted the wand and said, “oop, it’s a boy” my first thought, the first thing I said to my partner in the deliberately shadowed room was, “how do we raise a non-toxic white boy in the South?” It was my immediate and most primary concern.…
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Palisades Girl
Fiction by Jim Cheney A skinny Metro cop is standing in front of me outside this deli over on Commerce Street. He’s got me cuffed, leaning up against the car, taking notes in his little pad, and asking the same questions over and over again. Then this big cop walks up and whispers something to…
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Healthy Habits: Starting to Stick
by Valerie Peralta In the early months of the pandemic, I indulged in BOGO ice cream deals. Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Therapy and Half Baked one week. Häagen-Dazs Rum Tres Leches and White Chocolate Raspberry Truffle the next. Talenti’s Caramel Apple Pie and Chocolate Peanut Butter Cup the week after that. At half the price,…
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Coming Home
Fiction by Melissa Llanes Brownlee The streetlights are puddles in ink as Kahea weaves her way home along the cracks in the sidewalk, their sodium orange glow weakly shining on the neighbors’ mango, avocado, tangerine, plumeria trees. She’d just gotten off the night shift at the Sack n Save with a few pau hana shots…
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Altered Earths: On Genre, Worldbuilding, and Multiplicity
by S.E. Hartz My old journals mark the moment when I decided, in tenth grade, that I would be not a writer but a scientist. I was two selves already by that time, one writing maudlin poetry in the wings of the high school auditorium during theater rehearsals, the other delving deep into diagrams of…
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Daytona
Fiction by Nathan Willis The cars stay bunched together. When they go by, I cover my ears. It’s the loudest thing I’ve ever heard. It doesn’t bother the other people in the stands. They aren’t tourists like Harp and me. They understand the flags and strategies. They know the backstories of every team and every…
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If It Plays in Peoria: A Glossary of Midwestern Survival
Creative Nonfiction by Megan Cannella saying, I used to date a lot of managers of strip clubs for a while verb meaning to have tried too much meaning to have cowered in ways that surprised you meaning to have smelled like fried food more frequently than is comfortable meaning…
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Soundscapes: Story as a Place to Dwell
by Erin Calabria It is a grey afternoon in Germany. It is almost always a grey afternoon in Germany, and my ears are buried in headphones, as they so often are these days, because there is nowhere to go right now, and no way to get there. So instead, I’m scrolling through voice memos, teleporting…