We’re eating dinner late, 8:30pm. My two year old stands up, walks to the glass door, nose pressed up, and says, “She’s out there again.”
Glen Binger (@glenbinger) is part of The Broad Set Writing Collective. He edits 50 to 1 and talks in a higher tone when naked.
Her prayer for love seeped through the firmament and tickled his ears. God then hunched over a copy of Cosmo and read her horoscope.
Andrew Bowen edits Divine Dirt Quarterly. He spends his time poking fun at God and sharing beers and laughs afterward.
Horse smelled funny when he cooked it. Shot it up anyway. Didn’t ever come down.
William Walsh is the author of Questionstruck and Without Wax.
His calloused hand squeezed her tiny thumb. Inadequate insurance, he discovered. He couldn’t afford healthcare. He could pay for a funeral.
Bruce Harris is a doctor and a salesman, but not necessarily in that order.
Beyond the vacant highchair sits our empty pool.
Len Kuntz writes and sometimes blogs.
His probation stopped on a dimebag.
Christopher Cocca writes fiction and MFAs at The New School.
We ate wontons until marriage became a tag on a fortune cookie. In a talk about needs he said do you even masturbate. I lied to him. In bed.
Sara Lippmann is a writer in Brooklyn.
Inspecting her bloody knuckles, she asked aloud if he was worth fighting for. From the ground, he gurgled what sounded to her like “yes.”
Noel Sloboda lives in Pennsylvania with three dogs, two cats, and one wife.
She tells him to back away slowly, she never wanted it to go this far. He nods and puts down the ring.
S. Kay (@blueberrio) enjoys tiny things saturated with flavor.