Flash Fiction

Charles Russell likes to give Selene, who lives in the adjacent apartment, what he calls sonic displacers.  Even if friends are over, he commands silence in the room, then sits on his wooden barstool and listens through the drywall to … Continue reading →

Walt Whitman rest stop, midday. Ten-minute break, shouts the bus driver. Four cashiers working the rush at Roy Rogers, lines twelve deep. A blend of voices, bickering, foreign. Pee instead and buy a Twix candy bar from the vending machine, … Continue reading →