A little army of cobwebbed beachcombers in the bar. Levi counted them; there were seventeen. They were leering off into the bar's long mirror, their cheeks swallowed up by LSD and mescaline and morning glory seeds. Their hair strung, wet-looking, gray and twisted to just above their shoulders. Their pastel Hawaiian shirts and water-stained buckskin jackets clung to their skinny arms. Read More »

Deep in the illustrious catacombs of Morehead Hall, in a large auditorium filled with ready-to-learn students, Professor Lou Eighnal stands in front of his class, a week before finals. On the chalkboard, a message reads "The History of Sodomy." Read More »

So the doctor says he's sterile. Who fucking cares? Besides, even before he found out that he was shooting blanks, Gooden thought babies were pretty much worthless.  There's really no point in worrying about conceiving one of them. What's he supposed to do? Read More »

In the fields of Grandmother's dead dandelions, moon spread across the earth like a hand over a wet basketball, Boy-Shaman decides to call for the rain.  He drags along a bright orange dolly with a sheet of warped, unpainted plywood laid across the top-a makeshift boxcar he built after dinner-up a hill. Read More »

I'm alone and ready and then...my good old body finally shakes up to itself.  Then, I'm inside of her. Just like that...inside. Deep and immoral and inside...I been alone for a long time, though...and I love this girl...I guess...by proxy. We here alone. Read More »

While you were away, your wife screwed your best friend. Purple satin-slick screwing, wounded kiss screwing, hair-pull screwing that she's never allowed you the honor of. It was sexy and gruesome; I assure you, they loved the juice. Read More »