BLACK FLAG AT THE DISPENSARY • by Paul Hansen
I saw a man with a Black Flag tattoo at my dispensary. It was on his leg, nice and faded. I’ve got the same one on my wrist from when I turned eighteen – two decades ago, back when we… Continue Reading
I saw a man with a Black Flag tattoo at my dispensary. It was on his leg, nice and faded. I’ve got the same one on my wrist from when I turned eighteen – two decades ago, back when we… Continue Reading
Sweating Buffalo takes the pipe into his big hands and puffs like a train climbing a steep grade. A smoke-sweet smell quickly fills the bathroom. “It was another life,” he says, eyes gone dreaming. I prod him with a broom… Continue Reading
I was congratulating myself on selling a set of tires on eBay and being able to pay the rent, when it happened. It wasn’t much of a sound, just a crack like a toy popgun might make, but it got… Continue Reading