Your With the Angles Now by Brenna Ehrlich The things that people write on a person’s Facebook page after they die – they sound way too much like the things people write in your yearbook. They do. Like, “You were an amazing friend. RIP” (“You’re an amazing friend! LYLAS!”). “I’ll miss you, buddy. See you on the other side.” (“See you next year!”) “You’re with the angles now.” Well, that one you probably wouldn’t find in any yearbook – but […]
Sunday Stories: “The Boys Think This Story Is About Them”
The Boys Think This Story Is About Them by Matthew J. Hefti 2008 When Eris was a girl, she spent a summer with her mother at a beachfront home on Florida’s Emerald Coast. The home was owned by a family friend, and they had gone there during one of the separations before Eris’s parents ended their marriage for good. It was the first time Eris had ever been near the ocean and she could not sleep for days. When she […]
Sunday Stories: “How Was Your Day?”
How Was Your Day? by Cara Benson I’m not in the best of moods. [send] I walk to the sink. Pick up the soaking yogurt container. Swish the blueberry water around and shake the liquid off. I like to rinse out the recyclables thoroughly. It’s a crap shoot, I think, what happens once the trash leaves the curb, but I try very hard not to give our collectors a reason to landfill it. The neighbor bins get blown over a […]
Sunday Stories: “Shine On You Davey Pedansky”
Shine On You Davey Pedansky by Nate Knaebel I met Jeff Schkowksy, forty-eight years old and married with three kids, at Ritter’s, a classic “kiss-my-grits” diner not far from where he grew up in Swissvale, PA, an unincorporated suburb of Pittsburgh just outside the city limits. Skinny and of medium height with a scruffy beard and hair down to his ears, Jeff gives off a slightly manic quality, but is by all accounts a reliable man who works his shift at […]
Sunday Stories: “America Is Not the Future”
America Is Not the Future by John Paul Carillo 1. Here’s a story about that fucking Tuesday.
Sunday Stories: “I Did It”
I Did It by Kate Axelrod I’m on the crosstown bus, on my way to work at the Japanese restaurant on Amsterdam. Peter and his brother are coming for dinner and I can’t decide if it’s a generous gesture or just a way to get free food. We hit traffic going through the park, stall beneath a brick overpass. The trees are lush and budding all around us. My fifth-grade science teacher told us there are a hundred and seventy-two […]
Sunday Stories: “2012: ‘the shape of punk to come,’ my blood still whispers”
2012: “the shape of punk to come,” my blood still whispers by d. the weather is changing. they say it’s getting hotter. but it’s not. i feel it to the bone. it’s getting colder and colder. we’re headed for an ice age, man, the waters to surround the earth, embrace the wounded land, and to hold it hard like that in ice the earth. . . for a long . . . long . . . long . . . […]
Sunday Stories: “Loving Yams”
Loving Yams by Cara Marks She wanted to love the things he hated – IPA, jogging, yams, Plato – as a faux facet of moving on. She stopped straightening her hair. Brushed on fat red lipstick and never shut off the espresso machine; gardened in a mauve tunic and goulashes, braless; baked cheesecakes and danced to Paul Desmond and Wu Tang in the kitchen at 3am, when he’d have been straight P.O.ed and bedheaded.