THE KANGAROO • by T.J. Robinson
Gaz rings and tells me he needs a lift — he’s out near St Andrews and he’s hit a kangaroo with his car. “It’s a write-off,” he says. I roll my eyes and leave a half a can of beer… Continue Reading
Gaz rings and tells me he needs a lift — he’s out near St Andrews and he’s hit a kangaroo with his car. “It’s a write-off,” he says. I roll my eyes and leave a half a can of beer… Continue Reading
It’s hot and humid on the last day of August. It’s even hotter inside the small dance hall in Santa Rosa de Aguan, the village on a peninsula bordered by the Atlantic Ocean on the front side and the Aguan… Continue Reading
Eleanor hovered over the crowd for half the pageant before spotting him: baseball cap, sunglasses, one hand thrust deep into his pocket, the other snapping photo after photo of “Little Miss Missouri Ozarks” contestants. There was always at least one… Continue Reading
The mushrooms are poisonous, but locals eat them, says the Gastronome Guide to Ireland. I’m not a foodie. I plucked this guide from a free magazine stand at the Ballybunion bus station, and now I’m curious. “Have you tried inkcap… Continue Reading
In my defense, Mom shouldn’t have kept the Communion elements in the rumpus room. In her defense, the room wasn’t used much. As an only child, it’s hard to make a rumpus, especially when being the minister’s daughter renders you… Continue Reading
Abbie rose from the couch when she heard the key rattle in the lock and the thump of Troy’s boots hitting the floor. It was two in the morning. Troy staggered into their apartment, mumbling a slurred story about pub… Continue Reading
“Wow, that’s gorgeous. Where’d you get it?” Mariel asked Reno. “That new place on Main Street.” Mariel admired the tattoo and touched it lightly with her fingertips. His skin was cool to the touch, and the tri-color tat popped against… Continue Reading
(content warning: rape) I close my eyes and the quiet, black space around me is filled with you. Do you think of me too? I wonder if you do. Wonder if that night is still carved into your wrists, wriggling… Continue Reading
Down McLaren, right on First. Argh, I know this friggin’ bus route off by heart. Haunt a bus, they said; it’ll be fun, they said. Sure, it’s fun for late-night-thrills but the monotony is going to make me lose it.… Continue Reading
Bobblehead. I’m a bobblehead, he thought, and smiled at the mental picture of an Albert Einstein one that he saw online one time. It woke him up slightly, which he needed to do; falling asleep in public would be embarrassing.… Continue Reading