Category: Fiction

GREG SIMONS HATES HIS SON

One man can pinpoint the moment his life went to shit.

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Snapshots of a Cyclical Life

“A Persian, an American, a Russian, and a Frenchman walk into a bar—”

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Rain

“A compass points to Borneo, and Oksana runs straight toward it.”

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On Wisdom (and) Teeth

“A Sunday slumber turned October tastes like cider mixed with tahini.”

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The Bust of Sokrates

“But then the Romans didn’t want paunchy, lumpy bodies in their villas (aside from their own), so they decapitated Sokrates, already green and moldy from the hemlock, and shoved his face alone in their alcoves, dressing him up in pure white marble.”

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Schrödinger’s Lottery

“Maybe it was the cheap thrill of furiously scratching them with a quarter, and seeing all those shimmery silver shavings pile up.”

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The Dead Guys

“We always did the same things every day: we went into the toy store and rearranged all the Rubik’s Cubes. We went into the library and looked at the medical encyclopedias or biographies of old ugly white guys in wigs.”

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Bonsai

The first stone was one I knew. Flaking and grey and dusty. A driveway stone – from my driveway. Who breaks a person’s dining room window with a stone from that same person’s driveway?

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Fuzzhead

“The very first thing he felt was a dulled twinge of fear that breathing seemed to take so much exceptional effort, but even that was killed off very quickly.”

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American Fairy

“Somehow I would atomize the egotism and diva and brutishness that mediated Ty’s interface and reveal genuine realized human soul.”

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Raise the Lid

“I was playing loud jazz in J Street.”

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TIME TRAVEL

“So she had boarded this train, not sure where to go, not sure how to heal her fractured soul. Her life was stuck at 1:27.”

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