Marlon and Shawn spend every Saturday of their retirement fishing together out on Runaway Bay . . .
Tag: flash fiction
A white Prius squealed up the driveway of the Chevron station and pulled around back. Dark, syrupy blood dried to the grill . . .
I am a distinguished professor. I am a dignified person. I have a doctorate. I am important in academic circles . . .
You sit with your back against the bronze statue of Ken Kesey in the square bearing his name, a box of Voodoo Doughnuts between your feet and an aluminum baseball bat leaning against the inside of your right leg . . .
The kids and I dash across town to library story time . . .
I never relaxed during the week I spent in Rishikesh . . .
Kelleher piloted the small motorboat out of Mullaghmore’s famous stone harbor to establish an alibi. McMahon and McGirl, the IRA men, sat stiffly in the back . . .
Here I am, ten minutes after five in the a.m., standing on Fowler Street, one of Trenton’s meanest, a shit-eating grin on my face. How did I get here? It’s like this . . .