“Swans Mate for Life” by Patrick Cooper
“Man gon’ fry out there,” Kinfolk said. He sipped from the tall boy of Hurricane and passed it to Sam . . .
“Man gon’ fry out there,” Kinfolk said. He sipped from the tall boy of Hurricane and passed it to Sam . . .
Imagine hitting four home runs in nine innings and losing the game . . .
Potty training. So . . .
The body didn’t belong in the freezer. It belonged in the Pasadena sunshine, skateboarding down the uneven sidewalks, cycling around McDonald Park, kicking a soccer ball around the Rose Bowl . . .
The next morning Anoush left so early with Baba Bijan that the chill of the night air still hung over the desert . . .
On the last day of November, Chip spent his hour commute composing a suicide letter in his head, absently passing pokey sedans, picturing his boss’s face when the dickhead heard about the tragedy . . .
Elizabeth didn’t know what to do. Go along with the kid holding the knife and the other kid with the gun? Lie? Try to escape? . . .
Progress. Ronald laughed ruefully at the concept. Sure, yeah, that’s what he was looking at. Or a physical manifestation of it anyway . . .