Fiction
Prospecting on the North Platte by Christina Ray Henry
I told him my name was Lia, which was almost true.
I told him my name was Lia, which was almost true.
The boy carries his corgi down the stoop of our shared brownstone.
First it was Henry Stringfellow breaking and entering the Odoms’ basement.
In the South babies go googoo gaga switch blade knife.
Louise dumped peaches into a bowl, added brown sugar, and rolled the dough into a ragged circle, all from memory.