“The Effects of Urban Renewal on Midcentury America” by Jeff Esterholm
The last time I saw my father was in October of 1972 . . .
The last time I saw my father was in October of 1972 . . .
Yuri pulled his Nissan Maxima into the shopping center and waited . . .
I hadn’t been out for a while. There were four of us. Bill was the president of a motorcycle gang. His friend Rangi was a big maori guy. They had been in prison together . . .
Earl felt the warmth of his extra hot coffee seep through the cup onto his hand as he leaned over the second story railing of the shopping mall and reflected on how many times he’d taken in this view over the years . . .
Galway City, late July—when dawn comes early—5am, only twenty minutes off. All was calm. All was bright. It reminded me of something . . .
Some of her patients had parenting problems more than they had medical problems, but Dr. Simian didn’t say that out loud as she took Mrs. Monkey’s call . . .
We pulled into our parking space at 9:38am. Yes, we were technically eight minutes late. But I’d managed to dress and feed four hungry tiny people, wrestle them into car seats, and drive here. Eight minutes late was a win.
Gardner finished dressing: jeans, his shoulder holster strapped on underneath his leather jacket. He’d started down the stairs when the buzzer sounded. Gripping his arm, the woman stopped him. “Don’t go out there.” . . .