by Chase La Rosa THE TEAM Nav had a first name, John, but no one would ever call him that. Eng could be Eng, and you could maybe sneak in a Gary over beers. Weps could be Weps or Weps Rose. I’m not actually sure if he had a first name. My second Weps was […]
Fast Boat Real Boat Thunder Buffalo Read More »
(for Odie, who went for us, and William, who inspired me to tell of it) by Richard O’Quinn Things were already underway by the time I arrived. Word had made it back of the explosion, injuries, and deaths and the place was awhirl with movement. Hushed voices and serious faces hung in every corner. While
Day Breaking In Apple Valley Read More »
by Erik Dane For an American like me – a born-and-bred East Coaster, a headstrong, pensive brand manager, a heartbreak-escaping, late night jogger – you’d think the hardest part of living in Paris would be the language. Until today, I would have agreed with you. Now, at this particular moment, the fact that I can
by Mark de Rond As the dog days of summer elongated, and with school out and everyone who is someone having been moved on, and with nothing to do and nothing whatsoever to look forward to, two teenagers killed a pizza delivery guy and didn’t eat the pizza. They stood in silence for a while
Dead Man Can’t Even Blink Read More »
by Markus Hällgren One motherfucker. Grey-man takes his keys from his right pocket and moves them to his left hand. His mind is set on one thing only. Two motherfuckers. The man with grey hair on his temples takes two steps forward. The sound of the world fades. He does not notice the crunch of
A rap by Madeline Toubiana I’m a little woman you sayWorthless in every which way Mentally ill, deranged, lacking a spinemy blood is a weakness ruining your line. I fail as Jew, as a mother, as a wifeMy paycheque too small to handle your spite. I hear I’m a fucked up racist, a fucked up
by Ostap Slyvynsky; translated by Taras Malkovych Here is a selection of short stories — anecdotes more like, or memories — recorded by Ostap Slyvynsky, a Ukrainian poet, essayist, translator and lecturer at the University of Lviv. Taras Malkovych translated them into English so we might get a sense, however remote, of what the experience of war is
Stories From Ukraine Read More »
by Loïc Wacquant A dark-skinned, broad-shouldered, African American with searching eyes and a slight stutter, Jake “the Snake” Torrance resides in a depressed neighborhood of the depressed industrial town of East Chicago, Indiana. He rents an unfinished basement in the house of a friend where he lives alone (at age 32, he is single with no
Just One Of ’Em Things Read More »
by Ostap Slyvynsky; translated by Taras Malkovych FISH, Halyna, Mariupol I have never taken anything that was not mine. And then this man in uniform passes by saying, “They’ve just opened a grocery store. Take something for yourself.” So I did. All I saw inside was out-of-date poultry and people taking it, saying it will be okay
More Stories From Ukraine Read More »
by Madeline Toubiana Fingernails jagged, tanned and thick Aged, well worn like rough leather Spotted with white, from cortisol’s touch His hands, they swallow me up Those hands, they kept me held me tight In their comfort, everything was safe Love is a squeeze an understanding of mutual need No need for words, they said