RAINBOWS by Tim Frank
A rainbow is feeling down, suicidal even. It takes some pills and a bottle of gin to a park, ready to end it all.
A PORTRAIT OF JOHN WAYNE’S COLLARBONE, SELMA BRAUN, 1992 by Will VanDenBerg
It’s 5:34 am and John Wayne is singing to his horse. The shoot is behind schedule; they’ve gone all night. Wayne’s singing voice will be dubbed over.
ANCHORAGE by Marc Tweed
That’s the Way of the Boss. That’s the Way of the Boss! Well, fuck.
OUR STORY by Rhea Ramakrishnan
You can tell yourself anything you want about yourself, even if it’s not true yet, and eventually it will be. Maybe.
DOOMSDAY APOCALYPSE MELANCHOLIA BLUES by Nathaniel Duggan
It was an easy thing, that winter, to realize that you were not, in fact, you—rather you were the untitled, draft email of yourself, addressed to no one.
RECENTISH by Spencer Thomas Campbell
But the product of this was both gushy and vain. Embarrassing. It was easy to read his real interest, which was carnal, puckered.
THE FAST-FOOD REBELLION and THE LARPER by Will Musgrove
On break, he spoke to us through the order box. The sun warming our necks, we tossed French fries to seagulls and smelled the electric static on his breath.
THE FORTY-FIVE DOLLAR SCYTHE by Don Television
They looked for the seller. They were sometimes lurking near the booth, watching as you handled the crockery. Watching as you flipped through the records.
OLD MAN SHADOW by Christopher Notarnicola
The girl came out, banana in hand, and the guy from the back followed, loosening his fruit-stained apron, gaping at the climb.
DAVID’S GOING TO DIE by Aurora Huiza
Everybody in that coffee shop was always standing around, walking into each other, then backing up and trying again, like Sims, walking into the fridge, backing up, trying again.