Sammie Stabby Opens a Restaurant
Sammie Stabby had the greasiest hands. He wore plastic gloves, but the butter puddles seeped inside, smearing all over his fingers. This didn’t matter. Grease was something he would wipe away when the gravy was ready. His long rubbery apron was slicked with wet lard...
Sammie Stabby Goes to Church
He walks to the pulpit with a slight limp; his foot is sore and the pain in his lower back flared while he was sleeping. “Good morning, friends.” His arms spread in a wing-like way. “Today is a brand new day, a gift from God, a gift for us. Let us celebrate a new day...
We Have a Fat Fish
We have a fat fish
The Story Killer
Vincent was alone in his study. A lamp hung in the corner, casting light onto the floorboards. It was raining. His paper-strewn desk, stoic and heavy in the cold room, caught only a glimpse of the lamp’s glow. Vincent paced restlessly. The night had grown so long...
Paper Bag
Her face is like a paper bag. It’s a face you see behind a cash register, mechanically pushing numbers and counting quarters and always reminding you to “have a wonderful day.” Her paper bag face has that standard red writing, something like “Come see us again soon”...
The Bad Boyfriend (LP)
On the second floor of the house, up the stairs, to the left, and through the double doors, there was an enormous closet. Gigantic in size. Like a hotel room. Even if you stood with your arms straight out to your sides with double twirling batons in both hands you...
The Bad Boyfriend (EP)
There hadn’t been cowboys in The Valley since the early nineteen eighties, but they were re-emerging. At shopping malls stocked with shoe stores, cell phone kiosks, jewelry retailers, and airbrush photography studios, you could find them. Even though it had been forty...
The Fast-Forward
He appeared as she was sinking into despair. He was towering and mystical, shiny even, like a statue and he appeared above her as if from a swirl of smoke. “I can grant your desire to fast-forward your life,” he said. “I can move time and in a moment you will be where...
What One Does at Arrival: Part 1
They open the door because I’ve arrived. I move to step inside, one foot over the cracked threshold, mid-air, inches above the living room floor, the padded welcome mat. One foot is nearly grounded while my arms stretch in that circular maneuver, embracing others,...
What One Does at Arrival: Part 2
It’s one of those dark mansions, it’s almost a mansion, with these rustic, reclaimed barnwood slats that have this just-been-rained-on sheen, so they’re kind of a wet color. The windows are all framed in black, the glass overlaid with rows of Georgian ornamental work,...
What One Does at Arrival: Part 3 (Everyone’s Been Very Accommodating)
Her skirt was ironed, the petal pink done in straight-arrow pleats, the bottom seam flattened squarely. Unbeknownst to Charles Montecito, hysteria seeped from the woman's pale petticoat and up through her floraled collar. She was, as they say, hysterical. By way of...
What One Does at Arrival: Part 4 (A Gift for Emily)
"Will you be there? It would be so incredible if you could come!" I won't be there. "I've missed seeing you, your smile. This will be so special, I really hope you can make it." I cannot. It is a bridal shower for Emily, a poet I know. She's a better poet than I am...