The skinhead wipes the rain out of his eyes and cackles. “I’m glad I’m not the poor bastard that has to try and identify your body.” His pump-action shotgun is wedged against my throat. He is going to make one hell of a mess . . .
The grave is waist-deep when the cramps start . . .
It’s happy hour at the Dirty Lemon, but I recognize the same lipstick smear on my glass from when I was in here this morning. It’s 9 pm, but the room is still hot and my half-drunk beer is already warm . . .
Featured: Black Interest
- Kingston Noir (Jamaica)
- Frederick Douglass in Brooklyn
- Even in Paradise
- Pepperpot: Best New Stories from the Caribbean
- Sale Nelson George Two Book Set
- Black Marks
- May Digit
- Bronx Biannual: The Literary Journal of Urbane Urban Literature
- The Baker’s Son: My Life in Business
- Pressure Makes Diamonds: Becoming the Woman I Pretended to Be
- Abstraktion und Einfühlung
- Accra Noir (Ghana)