No One Makes Money at Landlocked Bars on Holiday Weekends

If I only knew the time, he thought, I would know it all. Standing behind the bar on a slow holiday weekend he would wax philosophical. Something outside would catch his eye and the thought would skip away. Like how the awning of the place retracted with one of those poles you slipped through a … More No One Makes Money at Landlocked Bars on Holiday Weekends

Gas Money, Honey

Eastern Pennsylvanians love their hoagies. I’d pulled into a gas station after driving six hours north. The place advertised 2 for 1 liters of cola and state minimum cigarette prices. A ‘70s style goose sweeping across a setting sun illuminated above their door. Mosquitoes flocked to its luminance. I parked the car in the rear … More Gas Money, Honey

Pink Bow Untied

Rain would have been more fitting. Clouds. Torrential downpours. Some freak hurricane. Not this nurturing warmth that was carried in the breeze along with the songs of springtime robins. The boys were out with their father picking up new fishing poles and getting something for lunch. Patrick felt it best that Isabella, his wife, the … More Pink Bow Untied

2-2 Count

All day it had been the same thing. Jimmy Larson with his alpha-male-entitlement-because-a-growth-spurt-hit-before-these-other-two-soon-to-be-ninth-graders-so-I’ll-be-a-raging-douche-all-day-long attitude. So what if he got a hand job at the Martin’s bonfire the weekend of the Fourth? Six months ago, none of them even knew what a hand job was. All damn day. Every other blast fired from his loose cannon … More 2-2 Count

Burning the Tracks

A red glow washed over the amorphous designs on the table. Thin, bent tubes housing neon bordered the metallic siding. She sat in the hollow space carved out by the fish tank wall wrapping behind their customary booth. He hadn’t answered her question, the question she had asked him her to pose. She knew he … More Burning the Tracks