Stephen Hopkins – William Bardot

Last summer my friend Pablo and me were riding the Metrorail to Gabriella Sophia Rodriguez’s Quinceañera when we got into another fistfight. Pablo had me in a full nelson and was slamming my face against one of the aluminum poles, waiting for me to say he was the master of the letter S, when some old Cubano in a white guayabera pulled him off me and said, “Oye, cool it!” I told him to cool it and Pablo shoved the guy and I took that opportunity to kick Pablo in the stomach and then we were back on the filthy floor punching at each other’s ribs.



Never Negotiate: Sam Pink – Manuel Marrero

“Things like that. Things that seem sometimes possible but only at certain times, and only if you didn’t tell anyone. Because your thoughts are all you have.” – Witch Piss. 2014.


            Having spent all of April and much of the previous two months mind-melding with Sam Pink’s voluminous body of work (let’s set the bar for prolific, so as to never cheapen the sentiment by lowering it again…all else of merit equal: five novels.



Six Poems – Rebecca Kokitus



summer spring tease, I’m in blue jeans

prickle sweat on the backs of my knees.

still have winter lips, bitten to bits

dead lips only a mother could kiss,

like blue stillborn pucker

size of a violet.


wasp season, all prick and swell,

all hiss through the teeth

and stifle the child’s scream you never grew out of.



The Electric Jailhouse Acid Test – Ted Prokash

Another nice thing about my stay at the Napawaupee County jail was that I finally learned how to do acid properly. The opportunity arose quite by chance.


It was in the spring, some time after Tim, formerly a king of the Latin Kings of Chicago, had joined the team, a week or two after Josh Schlotzsky had taken his dressing down from big Dave. Josh survived the incident without any noticeable hit to his self-image.