We meet at a hacker space in Berlin. I score some dust online. She’s gone in the morning. I tell myself I’m done. Exhale. This is a lie.
Ben Parker Karris grew up on airplanes. He lives and works in Los Angeles.
All that remains of our sultry summer is a puckered-up clementine on the mantel, too integral to the room’s aesthetic to be composted.
Matt Crowley believes in the forbidden fruit.
A woman, at the refrigerator,
holds an unmarked jar.
She unscrews the lid, breathes in,
decides how much she trusts it.
It’s true Seth Clabough is a bballing asthmatic beach bum with chickens and a fauxhawk, but the rest are lies. Damn lies.
One candy heart out of a billion says: I know it can never be the same, and that’s okay. I smile and think of you, then wish I hadn’t.
Daniel Galef reads when he isn’t writing.