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Fiction 3.1

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Fiction, Vol. 3.1, March 2009 They load handsaws, axes, and splitting wedges into the truck bed, putting in last their...
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 Fiction, Vol. 3.1, March 2009 1. 'Let me,' the Storyteller said, 'let me tell you a story.' The crowd grew...
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Fiction, Vol. 3.1, March 2009 I can hear his hands slapping over his flat stomach from the bathroom, where he...
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Fiction, Vol. 3.1, March 2009 He shambled in an hour before last orders—tatty brown wool suit, patched at the elbows,...
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Fiction, Vol. 3.1, March 2009 Around midnight, unable to sleep, Esther gets up. She keeps a fifth of whiskey behind...
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Fiction, Vol. 3.1, March 2009 She asked that her ashes be buried in the rose bed, and he had done...
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Fiction, Vol. 3.1, March 2009 ‘The girls here are like watermelons,’ says Scully. ‘Hard to crack and full of seeds.’...
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Fiction, Vol. 3.1, March 2009 It was a very Biblical Easter in our little corner of England. Forty days and...
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Fiction, Vol. 3.1, March 2009 Room 408. Beth Israel Hospital, Newark, NJ, 1998. Once you die, things become fascinating. I...
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Fiction, Vol. 3.1, March 2009 The Copywriter makes a pitch to Salvador Dali. He wishes for the artist to join...
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