WHAT TO DO WHEN THERE IS NOTHING LEFT TO DO by John King
I’ve just vomited into my mother’s coffin. The pallbearers rush me out of the parlor. The funeral home director eyes me fiercely. He isn’t wrong.
QUESTIONS FOR THE ALIEN WHO LISTENED TO THE VOYAGER GOLDEN RECORD by John Waddy Bullion
In your mind, is there nothing better than coming home after a punishing day in the asteroid mines, firing up a space joint, and taking a blissful sound bath in the pure vibes pouring forth from your carefully curated LP collection?
I JUST WANT PALS TO JOSH AROUND WITH by Kevin Richard White
Maybe we discuss how soft our wives’ hands are, how they look in the shower, how they may or may not love us.
THE ENTIRE LAME HISTORY OF THE CHICAGO SHINERS by Sam Berman
God shares my taller daughter’s name now. Which is Hope. I say it five times when she covers the inbound. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope.
SELENA GOMEZ WALKS INTO A MULTI-DIMENSIONAL PORTAL AT THE REST STOP IN DUBLIN, GA by Stephen Meisel
And says a warrior’s prayer as the mahogany bear carvings come alive. She understands the will of the Valkyrie as the will of the H bomb.
VIRGIN SUNNING ON ARTIFICIAL ROCK by Kate Busatto
But before I can swallow, I must disarm her. Rob her of agency and hope. Break the faith that brought her to the enclosure.
JOHN LEAVES HIS HOME by Alex Juffer
John tracked their interactions and gauged the hierarchy. A redhead with no shirt and a flashbang sunburn ordered the youngest ones around. They worked in shifts now.
HOOPS THESE DAYS by John Pinto
The veteran killed the karaoke machine, just yanked the plug out the back and shoved the whole unit over, which was outrageous and way better than calling the cops. For three whole seconds, I felt like a winner.
BLADE OF GRASS by Mason Koa
Almost breathlessly, he raved to me that he had done it: He had separated himself from nature once and for all. I pointed out that we ate from nature before a light flickered in his eyes and I cupped my hand over my mouth.
THE SECRET TO A LONG LIFE by Kevin Grauke
Scientists have theories about why this happens, but I’ve got one of my own: our brain wants us to remember our horrible moments most clearly.