
THE RELATIVELY BEAUTIFUL AND THE DAMNED by J.S. Nunn
I’ve found that hobbies are a great way to distract yourself from the fact that it’s too late to realize your potential.

I’ve found that hobbies are a great way to distract yourself from the fact that it’s too late to realize your potential.

A fissure opened in the earth. The car found it, slowing in the way that makes you realize how fast you were going.

Our Land turns particularly bleak at night; bicycles are stolen and dumpsters are torched. In the morning, users who sleep rough light spoons and burn up powders in front of little kids going to school.

The world’s all burning. You might as well buy yourself a pretty little (not so little) mansion. You can too: make love in the microplastics.

I heard my liver slapping onto the tile floor. My pancreas half falling out of me, hanging all the way down into the sink with my old skin.

The teacher hated the children. Ashley with her electric fence and Michelle with her little doll and Daniel with his frog.

But today there was a cabin. A small, rough thing. Caked in leaves. Inside, they found old cans and an old bed and an old table. Inside, they found a calendar stuck on July 1992.

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.

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?

Maybe we discuss how soft our wives’ hands are, how they look in the shower, how they may or may not love us.