Issue 150

Summer & Fall 2016

Image from Rehearsals for Extinct Anatomies

Fiction Christian Winn Fiction Christian Winn

What's Wrong With You is What's Wrong With Me

My brother Johnny and I have been driving three days, left San Diego on a whim in this kind-of stolen car. The BMW belongs to Ryan, Johnny’s boyfriend, this older, very tanned, very rich guy Johnny’s been living with for ten months.

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Fiction Bonnie Nadzam Fiction Bonnie Nadzam

The Silver Motorcycle

My grandmother was very old. Her hair was white as bone, and her bones were thin as stems of feathers. She sat in her rocking chair with the bright green window open behind her, and the dim, dusty room of varnished wood and books and photographs before her.

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Fiction A.D. Nauman Fiction A.D. Nauman

Inside

I do believe my mother loved me. She’d invested our Grünenthal settlement money well and lived frugally herself so I’d have enough after her death, and with my inheritance I was able to buy a house—a foreclosed home in a leafy town not far from the city.

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Fiction Martin Pousson Fiction Martin Pousson

Most Holy Ghost

Down in the tail of the parish, where the bayou emptied all its secrets, I grew certain my grandfather lurked, waiting for me to find him. Since I’d only met him once before he disappeared, the odds were long that I’d ever catch his scent or follow his trail. Yet by thirteen, I was hell-bent to try.

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Fiction W. Andrew Ewell Fiction W. Andrew Ewell

Boatyard

I’d started swabbing decks for Ken Jacobs at the beginning of the summer. I’d moved on to teak work by June, but that was really just a fancy kind of cleaning. Eventually I was allowed to take on the general work of the boatyard and was making eleven dollars an hour for it, which was two more than what I’d started at.

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Fiction David Crouse Fiction David Crouse

La Recoleta

I. Where You Belong

My aunts had made me empanadas for the plane trip, wrapped in waxed paper and nestled into my bag along with what my mother had called the family teeth: tiny white stones gathered as she walked on beaches in Brazil and Uruguay with my father.

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Fiction Igor Štiks Fiction Igor Štiks

Putting on a Play in Wartime Sarajevo

This excerpt is taken from the award-winning novel Elijah’s Chair by Igor Štiks (Fraktura, 2006). Already translated into fourteen languages, it will appear in an English translation by Ellen Elias-Bursać in 2017, published by Amazon Crossing.

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