If I hadn’t lost my job, I wouldn’t be wearing a dead man’s clothes. If I hadn’t punched my supervisor, I’d still be a wage slave. With my new circumstances, all my duds come from a second-hand store. But with… Continue Reading
He saw her reflection in the chipped mirror on the wall. She was standing, gazing out the window, her back stiff with anger. They had driven for an hour, through deeper and deeper stone-cold silence and unforgiving mutual accusations, the… Continue Reading
On a bright April morning, Paul Cromartie watched Tidying Up with Marie Kondo for the umpteenth time. He decided it would be the last. He canceled his Netflix account, unplugged his television, and placed it by the door. Someone would… Continue Reading
It doesn’t really matter how I died. It was stupid. I ate some hazelnut frosting at a birthday party for my coworker. Anaphylactic. Very tragic. Boom dead. What matters, though, is the stuff I left behind. After my funeral, all… Continue Reading
A back room in a thrift store, apparently used as an all-purpose office. Small, furnished with the obligatory grey metal desk, a few filing cabinets, three non-matching, dinged-up metal and plastic chairs. Although the front part of the store is… Continue Reading