Fiction

My Dad

My dad took me to his office every day. My earliest memory is of playing with old wooden blocks while he yelled at somebody over the phone that they were making the mistake of their life.

It was a very

Featured Fiction

Sunday Night

I got black-out drunk again last night. I only remember scraps.

When we clapped the table to the beat, the forks made tiny chirping sounds against the plates. 

In the car I told everybody that we had all lived a