Monthly Archives: July 2012

Spite and Malice, fiction by CL Bledsoe

After Tom­my took the PCP, KT told him to calm down three times; each time, she made a point of stand­ing clos­er and clos­er to the shot­gun, the first, mov­ing across the room near it, the sec­ond, with her hand … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Mindoro, poem by Rhiannon Thorne

I was two thou­sand miles of corn­fields away from us, hours from Min­doro, that shit­ty fold-out, your daddy's car and a key­stone night when you saun­tered in, eyes blaz­ing from a teenage drunk, and your arms bare hang­ing like bat­tle … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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The Cab Knows the Way, prose by Mather Schneider

Who­ev­er Nan­cy Gantry is, she lives in Bum­fuck, Egypt. She’s sched­uled for a 2:45 p.m. pick­up. My teeth rat­tle as I progress down the wash­board dirt road, like a zip­per through the desert. No street signs, just sand, clay, caliche, … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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The Troubles, fiction by Sheldon Compton

Raise your shirt, Mr. Mullins.” “How about I just take it off?” “That’ll be fine.” She asked him to breathe heav­i­ly three or four times, mov­ing a stetho­scope from his chest to his back and then to his chest again. … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Running Mule Hollow, fiction by Murray Dunlap

The roads in Mule Hol­low are long and wide, unfre­quent­ed by cars, and in sum­mer months, make for the per­fect place to run.  The sides of the road are flat, and a beat­en path thread­ing through wild flow­ers give safe … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Snakes, poem by Denton Loving

I. My office build­ing sits atop a den of snakes. I’m sure of it. The build­ing edges the cam­pus where I work. Only an over­grown horse pas­ture sep­a­rates the man­i­cured lawns of high­er edu­ca­tion from the wood­lands of Cum­ber­land Moun­tain. … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Hillbilly Rich, essay by Jeff Kerr

Some­times I for­get how rich I am. I’m not talk­ing about the cash in my pock­ets, stocks, bonds or any of that stuff. I’m talk­ing about the sto­ries and char­ac­ters that live, breathe and wail with­in my blood, mar­row, bone … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Caring for Cast Iron, by Misty Skaggs

Nobody wants to hear about my every­day life any­more. Nobody wants the truth I want to offer up, even though I lis­ten cour­te­ous­ly to your bull­shit, mind­less intel­lec­tu­al swill spewed over organ­ic din­ners with veg­an options. My small talk's not … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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