They pitched their Good News. He wasn’t buying it. Not on the worst day of his life, not ever. . .
Tag: Mondays Are Murder
Keenan offered me the drop gun but I said no. I didn’t think I was that kind of cop. . .
Al stops him. . .
He used to beat she like a snake. When he done, she skin so black and blue and swell she look just like the Southern Main Road. . .
A riderless horse clopping with hungry purpose down the block was not such a rare sight on that part of the West Side then. . .
The dog track was never in our plans for the evening. Scott’s system was for jai alai, not dogs, and tuition for the fall semester was due tomorrow, so he needed to raise it tonight . . .
I could hear the music clearly from Legends Corner. Even the laughter of a few thousand drunken tourists was audible . . .
It’s not there anymore. It was only a short walk from the Chelsea Hotel to Eleventh Avenue. I loved that old saloon . . .
Featured: Black Interest
- Dog War
- I Love You Too
- Trinidad Noir
- All or Nothing
- Bronx Biannual Issue No. 2: The Literary Journal of Urbane Urban Literature
- Bandits & Bibles: Convict Literature in Nineteenth-Century America
- She’s Gone
- New Worlds, Old Ways: Speculative Tales from the Caribbean
- The Lunatic
- The Book of Harlan