On an unusually sunny February afternoon in Pittsburgh, I had the pleasure of talking with Chuck Kinder in his sixth floor office at the University of Pittsburgh’s Cathedral of Learning building.
Dave wondered what had happened to the TV.
He had faraway memories of nature programs, black and white comedians with European accents and harshly lit news programs with stories as stark as
A note shoved under a sticky honey jar on a wooden spool table:
Maggie –
So sorry I had to leave without saying goodbye. Boo hoo. I wish you were coming with me! Now I’ll be the only girl
We ride the hook of route 87 straight from Utica to Newark without once stopping. The two of us go like vagabonds through tunnels and viaducts, me driving; my father in the passenger seat, slowly
cheney stadium, home to the now defunct tacoma tigers and current tacoma rainiers, once held a monster used car blowout extravaganza in their parking lot. i was 17 and needed a cheap car, so i
Little Johnny Damon enjoyed working in the produce section at Whole Foods. He took pleasure in stacking the lettuce and arranging the grapefruit and sweeping the dropped green beans from the floor.
Summers we watched baseball, my father, my uncle and me sitting riveted for innumerable innings, rooting for the Mets. We scoffed at the umpires, cheered when the players kicked dirt on their shoes
Tony Montes had always dreamt of the moment he would stand in left field at Candlestick for this, the third game of the World Series. In his dreams, however, he wasn't 48 years old, and he hadn't
It was like a chicken farm—a million bodies pressed together, and everyone was gulping at the cooler air overhead. I was still caught up in the gooiness of that last horrible image, tumbling into
She slurps her cherry cola loudly through her novelty straw and winks at me. I’m just turning eleven. She’s got candy pink lip-gloss on and a touch of blue eye shadow her older sister helped her
Salvador Plascencia is the author of The People of Paper, a novel in which the people of El Monte, California, wage a “war against omniscient narration” while the author himself is busy getting
She was a master of tentaculation. She was a cepholapod of considerable abilities. She was a writhing mandala of be-suckered sensory organs, feeling her way along. A long time ago, a man had been
Listen, Buddy, it’s important for you to keep in mind that I’ve known you since we were still playing with Duplo – remember that abutted fortress we built in daycare, and Mrs. Motoya was so amazed
