Stories

What We Do With Our Bodies – Stephen Mortland

     Each guest arrived at an agreement with Shy privately. Some were paying, but I wasn’t. She
never asked for money from me, and I didn’t have any to offer. I slept on a couch on the porch. She told me I could sleep inside, but I preferred things the way they were.
     The porch was screened in, and I easily imagined it a room of my own. The other guests returned to the house most nights after I’d already gone to sleep.

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Columns

Interview with Ted Prokash

You are a veteran writer returning to the namesake of your second novel’s setting for some unfinished narrative business. What is it about Napawaupee? What does it mean to you? Why this story now? Is there any place worse than jail/prison?

 

The town of Napawaupee is more or less incidental in the case of the new book. The real setting of import is the jail,

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Columns

Interview with Theresa Smith

We met in Brooklyn, sometime in 2011? You were playing in Home Blitz then, and have since played in several bands, and put out music under a number of monikers and in different styles. And you’ve been writing concurrently in one venue or another. Is there a relationship between the two worlds for you, or a trajectory from one to the other? How much does an internal narrative voice pervade in your life,

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Stories

Fever – Renny Ramone

Nine cardboard boxes stacked on my Mother’s doorstep. She sent them here knowing I’d have no other place to go, at least nowhere with a decent shower head. I knew what was inside the boxes; I knew exactly what was inside those fucking boxes. That’s why I didn’t bother shifting the transmission into park. I wasn’t ready for any of this shit so I let my foot off the break and continued down the crescent driveway that trailed my Mother’s private door to and from the public street.

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