It’s happy hour at the Dirty Lemon, but I recognize the same lipstick smear on my glass from when I was in here this morning. It’s 9 pm, but the room is still hot and my half-drunk beer is already warm . . .
Tag: Mondays Are Murder
With the full moon there’d be a strong tide to pull the shrimp from the warm lagoons to their spawning ground in the Atlantic. It seemed like all of God’s creatures needed love and were willing to risk everything for it . . .
To celebrate the November publication of USA Noir, we asked contributor Maggie Estep to write about her experience with this Best of the Akashic Noir Series anthology.
“My name is Brendan.”
He repeated the words as he walked down to the sidewalk . . .
Jiao Lee, the first female owner of Golden BBQ, stood in the restaurant’s doorway. She watched the morning traffic on Hollywood Road in the heart of Hong Kong Central . . .
Ashland, deep summer. It’s the one month the sun sets over steep Lithia Park only one hour earlier than everywhere else in Oregon, but at the jagged edge of town the hulking green shadows still pile up like a forest clear-cut. It’s the lull after Big Al’s Tennis Tournament, and it’s still a long haul ‘til Labor Day . . .
—Why’d you come? she said.
—The boys were busy, I guess.
I looked around. Her Nana’s house was just how I remembered: another old villa that desperately needed a coat of paint. I tried not to look at her. I could remember how good Tala looked, dressed and undressed . . .
Tiny red potatoes sizzled on the stove as Mel rolled kale with one hand, slicing it into ribbons with the other.
“Root vegetable chowder,” she told me as I unwound my heavy wool scarf. I must have given her a look because she added, “with maple syrup,” as though this would make it better . . .