Author Archives: Rusty

Bedwetters, fiction by Misty Skaggs

The screeching and squawking next door stopped and through the evening silence, Charlene heard frogs peeping in the creek. And she heard her favorite rocking chair squeaking a little louder. She felt herself move and bob a little faster in … Continue reading

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Prime Directives, fiction by Matt Prater

 If we were all good people, we could work in perfect rhythm If worms had daggers, birds wouldn’t fuck with em – Todd Snider, “If Tomorrow Never Comes” Milton Friedman used to have this theory about the pencil, used to … Continue reading

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Hot Ticket, fiction by Larry Thacker

Pretty much every 4 am on a Tuesday found Ed loafing at the Quik Pick #2. He would slow sip coffee and flirt with Elma as much as she’d allow, all the while mindlessly shuffling through layers of tossed scratch … Continue reading

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Poems by John Stupp

Angels Angels are strangers bumping into you a poet wrote— I read it in Poetry so it must be true if so the odds are good as a city commuter I will encounter angels more frequently than a farmer in … Continue reading

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Coffee, poem by Rebecca Schumejda

One of the only mainstays on Broadway is Burger King, where I get my morning coffee. Somehow the manager, Tony, always sneaks in the exact number of days he has left until retirement. Sometimes the weather is unbearably hot or … Continue reading

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The Gun at the End of the Night, fiction by Paul Heatley

It was Saturday night. The bar was full. Bishop didn’t like it. He didn’t like weekend drinkers. He sat alone at the corner of the counter, nursing a bottle of beer that had gone warm in his hand. A couple … Continue reading

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Gratitude, fiction by Ace Boggess

  “My breath tastes like coffee and cigarettes,” I said, smacking my tongue against the roof of my mouth in a gesture of disgust. The old man looked at me and grinned, his polished-silver beard a second, wider smile beneath … Continue reading

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The Flaming White Trash Stunt Spectacular, fiction by Seth Cherniak

  Junior sat on the wobbly metal steps of the baby roller coaster. In his left hand was a swiftly melting, toxic looking blue snow cone which had stained his dirty t-shirt, mouth, teeth and tongue. In his right hand … Continue reading

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Kentucky Sonnet, poem by Chris Prewitt

Down past the moonlit bell tower Down past the road that ends at a mountain I come to know my body prepared to lose everything Father if I wore your blue suit to your funeral I don’t remember I met … Continue reading

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Not Quite Glengarry, poem by Jeanetta Calhoun Mish

At 8am, my friend dropped me off in front of a nondescript yellowish strip-mall building at the crumbled edge of Little Rock; the parking lot mostly empty. People with personable voices needed. No experience necessary. Apply today. I was trying … Continue reading

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