From MOTEL 6 “Rm: 18” These bedbugs make love with you. –Michael Martone “Rm: 11” They fit. She kept both keys. –Michael Martone “Rm: 20” Between us, dark matter matters. –Michael Martone “Rm: 7” The sink perfect for washing underwear. –Michael Martone Michael Martone, born in Fort Wayne, worked there as a night auditor in a hotel. The night auditor’s… Read more →
Emily slept late that day, no reason to get up. She couldn’t seem to get past the fading late-August days. They felt stalled to her, bloated with boredom. So little to do in this picture-perfect town by the sea. This yawning land of ghost homes and Cypress-lined boulevards. At six thirty in the evening, she slipped on the dress with… Read more →
“The river keeps rising. We should go,” I tell him. We sit on the porch and watch it ebb closer to its banks, to our front yard. I have already packed. It will take Mike longer. He never throws anything away. Everything will seem valuable, full of memories, mostly bad, but it won’t matter. “You can, Jo. I’m not leaving,”… Read more →
At first, most people thought it was some sort of gag or promotional stunt. They looked around to see if there were any cameras nearby as the man in the big red suit waddled out to the middle of the park and dropped his duffel bag in the grass. What was he supposed to be, anyway? Some sort of insect… Read more →
The crying has held through the night. They have been told to let it go on, let it run its course for a time, until the Doctor’s appointment. If they let it cry, they’ve been told, the child might stop. Might grow strong. She looks toward the window and sees the moon, and it’s large and bright enough that it… Read more →
The astrologer received his throat cancer diagnosis on the day of his second Saturn return. I know because he told me so himself, at the Milwaukee Spirit and Mind Expo. Both of us plied our trades at metaphysical fairs, but it didn’t take a psychic to tell that Jim was ill. Jim had been rotund for years, stuffing himself with… Read more →