There are few good ways to die.
Amy’s father had recently expired while swimming laps in his retirement community’s pool. There was no lifeguard on duty so his body waited patiently until a fellow swimmer noticed it and alerted authorities. Something of a lonely death, true, but he went out doing what he loved to do. No IV drips, interminable dementia or ass-baring hospital gowns. Just — poof — you’re done. Everyone agreed it was a good way to go.
Amy’s last
You could say that Franky Gumbo was a type. Maybe your type. Maybe he fits your profile tighter than a Victorian corset. Franky Gumbo, the swarthy, foul-mouthed tough whose leather-jacketed exterior concealed a tender heart that had been crushed by a childhood so brutal even his neighbors had PTSD.
But if you told him that’s what you saw, Franky would’ve slit your throat and licked the blood off his switchblade. He’d worked so hard to overcome his sensitive self that he long ago left it for dead. Monica Ray
by Lisa Martinovic
So here I am gawking at this brand new, beefed-up
and all full of itself Harley-Davidson
Big
Black
Menacing
A veritable Rottweiler of the motorcycle world
I walk the length of this behemoth
admiring its sheer bulk
its shiny newness
Then I spy the sticker
applied somewhere above the headlight
centered just so, the sticker sneers:
If it’s too loud
You’re too old
Read more…
Laura Balzer struggled to compose herself in the face of this new reality: I’m a liar. She winced at the word – a slap to her conscience.
But if she hadn’t lied…
“Honey, we’re out of ketchup,” Muldoon yelled up from the kitchen.
“Check the pantry, love.” She had to play it cool.
“What?”
“I’ll get it.” Laura scurried downstairs and emerged with his favorite condiment.
“You’re the best!” Muldoon glowed at his good fortune.
“Love you, too,” she chirped.
Muldoon thumped the bottom of the
How to keep one’s joie de vivre alive on the factory assembly line. An improvised scene by Lisa Martinovic and Betsy Morris.