And There Was Ninja Moustache (Chapter 23)

    LaShawn listened with neither a word nor a judgmental look for ten minutes while I expressed my bamboozlement and displeasure. I marched about the living room, frustration causing my arms to flail and my voice to reach shrieking pitch at least thrice (that’s one, Rory). At the end of my miserable tirade, LaShawn just... Continue Reading →

And There Was Ninja Moustache (Chapter 3)

In the timid glow of my rental car’s stereo display I watched the night outside. It was dark—too hopeless even for stars. A sliver of moon now and then appeared through the drifting sea of clouds, painting a pale silver outline on the treetops. Behind the giant relic projector screen, the forest grew unchecked, as... Continue Reading →

And There Was Ninja Moustache (Chapter 1)

 “Man’s most striking shortcoming is his eagerness to convince himself of nonsense. This is also his greatest strength.” —Elroy “Bubba” Fowpend   From diverse eyewitness accounts, unsteady video footage, police reports, second-hand gossip and my own hazy recollections, I have painstakingly reassembled the events of Rory’s fortieth-birthday weekend. It is what it is. I got... Continue Reading →

A Slow March (The Final Part)

The sky is blue today. Leafy trees, just taller than myself, line the path. Eight months of the year they are bare, arching over like claws. Now they are lush and green. One month a year they flower. Now they are in full bloom. Wide, open stars of deep red. Around me, men are either... Continue Reading →

A Slow March (Part 1)

His footsteps swish-swish over the concrete in an odd rhythm. A broken hip that never fully healed. He can barely lift his feet, yet we keep the shackles on his ankles. We have to. Those are the rules. We can’t allow any chance of escape. Or any morsel of dignity. His lame shuffle slows us.... Continue Reading →

Book Review: Darkness at Noon

It seems communism is much like Samson from the bible—it killed a lot of people and left those it spared with a deep distrust and resentment toward it. My friend Neil is also like Samson, in that he has long hair and lives with his parents. But no one has written a book about Neil... Continue Reading →

Short Fiction: The Survivor

Six years in prison had changed Ray Stencil. For one thing, he had grown a moustache. (One does what one must to survive in jail.) Now, released back into society, he felt like a fish out of water, or a small fish in a big pond, or a lonely grouper swimming among sharks. Perhaps the... Continue Reading →

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