Emptiness walked in uninvited and refused to leave. When? How? I can’t recall . . .
We decided that one thing we could do with the money is buy a house, so we looked at some houses and it was weird and to offset the weird we got tattoos . . .
The American walked the ancient Italian countryside on unsteady feet. It was a familiar path, but he had been up very, very late with guests from the States, toasting to liberal optimism with liberal quantities of Tuscan wine. They had, essentially, drunk all night, waiting for election results from the States, which didn’t report until three a.m. Italian time that Barack Obama had become the forty-fourth president of the United States . . .
Johnny was barely fourteen when he started drinking . . .
Philip buys an ounce of smack. Craig and I don’t even know what smack is until he brings it over—we thought it might have been food . . .
I don’t understand cocaine
philosophically . . .
After writing a suicide letter addressed to her fiancé, Sophie tooted three fat lines of heroin, then downed some pills just to make sure . . .
Breathing hard, Eve unlaces her shoes. She knocks them together and watches the sand fall onto the wooden stairs. She stretches her legs and watches the black waves. Eve runs every morning before sunrise, past the jetty and all the way to the sea caves. She feels better when she’s exhausted . . .
Featured: Black Interest
- Sale The Bernice L. McFadden Collection
- Bronx Biannual Issue No. 2: The Literary Journal of Urbane Urban Literature
- Song for Night
- The Family Mansion
- Frederick Douglass in Brooklyn
- The Accidental Hunter
- Bandits & Bibles: Convict Literature in Nineteenth-Century America
- Accra Noir (Ghana)
- Every Boy Should Have a Man
- New-Generation African Poets: A Chapbook Box Set (Tatu)
- The Book of Harlan