My micro fiction piece Coffee Lover is included in formercactus’ issue 4 , dedicated to micro and chock full of contributors.
She accepted the dishwasher job at the cafe because she liked the way soapy water smelled as it mingled with coffee, creating a creamy & fragrant mahogany brew.
Permalink to my story is here.
My flash fiction story The Car Place appears in the January issue of Gravel magazine.
Outside it was about 106 degrees with not a cloud in sight, and my friend was in the large lot bagging up her possessions from her repo’d Bonneville.
Here is the story permalink.
i say to her, look, just because you’re using a razor does not mean you are shaving. you are simply moving it around your cheek and elsewhere to eliminate any extra hairs. it’s a process of elimination.
and know that the razor is pink, i say, making eye contact in the mirror. it’s one you can leave out on the ledge of a sink when guests are around because they know that, like any other woman, you have to do upkeep on your legs, which you do, albeit more often than you would like. Continue reading “pep talk”
when a guy approaches you from out of nowhere, and the two of you hit it off conversation-wise (talking art), and then he says they used to call him Lucifer back in LA, you start to wonder why and what the metaphysical purpose of his visit might be.
and now knowing what you know about his old nickname, you can draw only vague albeit somewhat disconcerting conclusions, and therefore your thoughts have taken a detour, and his side of the conversation is no longer registering in your logical brain. That’s when you start taking note of his physical features and character traits, trying to figure out what they might indicate: his cocked fedora; his slow, confident gait; his diagonal eyebrows, so elegant in the way that they slant; his shrewd stare.
handing you his business card (photography specializing in portraits of women), he goes on to say he had a complimentary studio in LA — a sprawling loft — because he dealt drugs for some local mogul, and during business lulls he collaged the walls using clippings of vintage smut. He claimed to have staved off a bust once because the officer was enthralled by his artwork.
This guile was what set your thoughts aflame the most, and so unquestioningly, you used the whole Lucifer thing as a departure point.
this story is all about the ending so why don’t we just cut to the chase. The ending is that the protagonist is an avid photographer. The ending is that she is staring out of her bedroom window on moving day. The ending is that it is a beautiful spring morning. The ending is that she is looking at the gazebo near her apartment building. The ending is that there is a bitter-sweet beauty about the gazebo. But the ending is that there are also painful memories attached to it, linked to her former relationship.
still, the ending is that while she is looking at the gazebo, she realizes that it seems to be extra beautiful on this particular morning. The ending is that there are birds fluttering around it because it is mating season, and that there are trees near it, making it all very scenic and idyllic. The ending is that it looks like an animated fairy tale. The ending is that she has always particularly loved photographing nature, too. But the ending is that she does not take a photo.
the ending is that the movie camera shows the audience a close-up shot of her digital camera, sitting on a chair, its strap wound neatly atop the seat, and suitcases and boxes around the room. The ending is that the room has hardwood floors, and the woman has always loved hardwood floors. But the ending is that the woman is leaving.
You can read my flash fiction piece on the magazine’s newly revamped website. A quickie excerpt:
Perhaps if she was feeling brazen enough, she’d pull over on a road shoulder on the freeway and toss them into the torrent of traffic, ideally in the path of a tractor-trailer.
In this town, you can trace the discourteous smell of cheap cigarettes to the reservation bargain brands like Cheyenne sold at the Paiute’s tribal mini mart and smoke shop downtown, where you could buy looseys or get them by the pack or carton. Continue reading “karma”
Maddie lounged in the Roman-style tub, rich, foamy bubbles creeping up over her legs and rising near her nether regions as the stupid old prosecuting attorney lurked just behind the half-open door.
A large man height- and weight-wise who was balding and had a comb-over — gray and wheat-colored strands sprawled across his glossy scalp — he stood there in a blue dress shirt and pressed gray slacks with black shoes, making clumsy, failed attempts at idle chit-chat in his semi-appealing Texas accent. Continue reading “the bubble bath”
I went to a tweetup once @ a pricey club on the las vegas strip with outdoor seating. a bunch of us social media strangers sat around drinking cocktails and talking tweets. one guy was fixed on growing his trove of followers. he bragged that he had a shitload and asked if i’d become part of his fold. instead i gave my loyal followship to this attractive girl in white denim shorts & a mid-rise shirt. Continue reading “when twitter played cupid”