“5 Hours, 4 Stitches, 3 Hail Marys, 2 Kids, 1 Saturday” by Thomas Angelli
To date we’d always had the twins enrolled in all the same sports and activities. But when they turned six they started to express different interests . . .
To date we’d always had the twins enrolled in all the same sports and activities. But when they turned six they started to express different interests . . .
Potty training is a bitch. It should be easy, right? How hard could it actually be? . . .
The ice pick hung there on a nail. I grabbed it—Ricky was going down. I told that fucking idiot not to leave anything behind. He knew . . .
Dorothy stumbled blindly into the lesbian bar as the last few off-season tourists perambulated the crooked streets, the evening sky a dull antimony pink behind the smoke-blackened canyon of the Cowgate, her hands wet and the bloody knife still in her handbag . . .
The constables looked at the river foaming angrily as it crashed against the rocks. Puzzled, their eyes searched the water where it flowed calmly into the sea, looking for some sign of Delroy—a shirt, a shoe, something to explain what had happened to him . . .
My Play Now, Pay Later Rusty Linings Playbook, too scuffed up and soiled to read, hopeless hodgepodge hieroglyphics really. I’ve got to find unity in community amongst my fellow city dwellers . . .
Gustav split her skull instead of the log . . .
Late one afternoon, while sweeping up, my uncle asked if he ever told me about how he almost make a jail, and immediately I thought: whoremongering . . .