Last week was the third consecutive book of the week with which school sent my son home to practice reading and the family it’s about is black.
Tag: flash fiction
Despite her initial first-generation confusion towards the phrase, it had been embedded in Sonia’s ‘reserved for home’ Guyanese Creole vocabulary.
“Here’s a supercluster of 100,000 galaxies.”
Melanie and Matt drove past their potential client’s house, a white stucco tear-down on a lesser street in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in the country.
I liked cooking meat over coals outside on the patio barbeque for the taste and the smoky flavor and of course less kitchen mess.
None of the men in my wife’s family ever changed a diaper. Not one. Not ever.
Max Renzi was running out of time. Scurrying through the crowd, his beady eyes scanning over the policemen, the TV reporters, the children clogging the sidewalk, he figured he had an hour, maybe two, before D.C. got too hot for him.
He’s a cop. I’m not. It’s a Ride-Along Program. I did one before. With a cop who wouldn’t talk.