Fiction
A Cool Breeze in August by Rick Stein
John Simmons sat quietly on that stinking hot August day, listening to the wheels grind over the seams in the railroad track.
John Simmons sat quietly on that stinking hot August day, listening to the wheels grind over the seams in the railroad track.
Our Illinois college town was a complicated organism, the busy campus of Prairie State, way more than an educational institution.
You’re standing by the side gate of your place, waiting for your son to come home on the first day that he’s walking home from school on his own.
I admit I’m freaked out about going under in two days to get big teeth from the back of my mouth pulled, and somehow this devolves into my older sister crouched over her phone after dinner, watching surgeons take metal hammers to hip sockets.