Woof

When I’m up in Maine I like to ride my bicycle late at night. Should ever you bear witness to one of these events you’ll see for yourself my midnight transformation–how this man melds with his machine, the chrome and the rubber and the swim-trunks. Be sure to watch for the faintest bit of light,…

Page 1

This is the first page. Go ahead and turn to the last page if you’d like to know how this all ends. Some people are like that, wanting to skip ahead before time has had a chance to do its thing. Don’t worry; you’ll come around to our way of thinking. You always do. If, on…

Cuban Coffee Confessions

Once a month he’s up on the stage, poetry, where under the guise of the art he uncovers his crimes. In the dark of the cafe the crowd listens to the man on the spot, as shedding light on his kills he recounts: “She cried.” Spoken softly, the package safely back at home, the Saturday…