Stories by
Matt Crowley

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.

The suicide lay on the bed beside his favorite novel opened to a highlighted passage he felt would clearly explain his reasons.

Matt Crowley sleeps soundly only when his watchtower of books stands sentinel at his bedside.