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Reverse-Gentrification of the Literary World

Akashic Books

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147 search results found for “simons cat”

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“Dopo L’Esplosione” by Geoffrey Thomas

It’s three in the morning, the orange sulfur lamps bleach the black sky, and for a moment I think it’s the sun rising over the skyline, but then the darkness recedes back into my vision. It’s always night here; this place never sleeps . . .

“Sweet Invidia” by Cara Petitti

Daryl pressed my back against the cold iron railing on the crumbling steps beside the Shelton Auto Body. His kiss was even colder, but only because he was in a rush . . .

“One time this was fun” by Hillary Fink

I feel myself drift away. My body is no longer mine, and the words coming out of my mouth sound foreign and out of character. The car starts to pick up, and my friend’s laugh sounds as though it is light-years away, even though she is so close her hand is on top of mine . . .

“Take Two” by Paul Renault

I sat on a railroad tie along the driveway, with my bad leg stretched out in front of me and the bike wheel across my lap. After deflating the tube, I worked the tool around and peeled the tire out of the rim. I kept having to stop to wipe the sweat from my eyes . . .

“Death Leaves the Seat Up” by Bill Landauer

“I want to let you both know, Mr. and Mrs. Evighet, that what happens in this office remains here, okay? You can say anything. Think of this as a sanctuary. Mrs. Evighet—may I call you Rebecca?”

“Becky.”

“And Mr. Evighet, I’m a little unclear on your first—”

“THE YAWNING INFINITE IS MY PLAYGROUND, THE SEAS BUT A DROP IN THE FOREVER THAT IS—”

“Bob, you promised! . . .”

“Killing Time” by Kirsten Rae Simonsen

We arrived around three a.m. and banged on the door, which swung open. The tiny white apartment was filled with pasty-faced, sweating people, hopping and hollering to a harrowing type of Dutch hardcore techno that thumped angrily through the speakers . . .

“We lived on the edge of reality. Some nights we were happy.” by Anna Douglass

I lie on his couch. It’s my spot now. I’ve spent whole days lying here. The cushions remember the arch of my back and the angles of my arms and legs, so it’s easy to find my place again when I move. He sits at his desk—next to the couch, in front of a laptop—and waits for his phone to ring. He is a businessman. His business is crack. He is always on call . . .