y= Tangent(x) – Michael Quint

Rachel grimaced, Maurice was staring at her vag again. She tightened the cross of her legs. What do we dip the wreath into? This is the culling season. Liver. A man with an AKG C414 XLS Large-diaphragm Condenser Microphone hunches next to her breathing heavily. Maurice is standing holding her child’s head. They are fifteen.


Maurice glances over at Rachel, camel toe again. What a damn slut.



Excerpt: Chapter II of Boingers! A Club for Gentlemen – Ted Prokash

Atmosphere is on you all at once. Or, rather, maybe your senses and synapses fire in a certain determinate order, running green in your brain like dense computer code; like fast-falling dominos. But for a simple man like Fred, it was like meeting the place all at once –  with a firm, full-body handshake. Freddo, our brave pilgrim at the gates of sensual discovery.


Dim strip club lighting,



the ritual deception of death – Jonathan Hine

while swooning into blissful radiance know that you dream in broad daylight where everything is delightful


dawning before you are shifting forces that storm and rage and play over a dull smoky light that casts a blight upon the whole region 


how beautiful the expression of the eyes where everything is covering in mud and the air is heavy with ammonia that surrounds,



Interview with Anthony Dragonetti

MM) There’s an ironic dimension to the title Confidence Man. It feels like something of a wink or put-on, a provocation of sorts that invites a wry interpretation. Something postmodern or deconstructive about it. The narrator in many of these stories seems to be conducting an autopsy on trauma while simultaneously living with the inveterate spoils. He’s possessed of a sterling, sociopathic charisma and masculine character, yet something’s fundamentally askew,