Cover

pdf iconDownload PDF
 

Frontmatter

pdf iconDownload PDF
 

Contents

pdf iconDownload PDF

p. vii

read more

Little Bear

pdf iconDownload PDF

pp. 1-24

Joey Malone found Pfc Owens under a transport truck. "You getting overtime?" Joey said. Owens scooted out on his back. He held a black radiator hose in his hand. "They said it needed a new radiator. Look here." He bent the rubber hose to expose a crack. "I been lying under there a half hour thinking how stupid the army is." ...

read more

Kentucky

pdf iconDownload PDF

pp. 25-38

Once when I was eleven years old, my father asked me not to buy him cigarettes, even if he begged me to. We had just moved back to Kentucky and were staying with Aunt Hannah, Mother's big sister, while Dad tried to find work. The white clapboard house had two bedrooms, but the room that had been Grandfather's was not used and the door was ...

read more

Dancing in the Movies

pdf iconDownload PDF

pp. 39-62

"Bob Marley dead," Eugene said, hand at his dick as he walked in the door, brown face yellowed from heroin, eyes puffy like a boxer's. He stared hard at me, leaned against a barstool. His shoulders made a big spread, but he was junk skinny, that all sucked- out look. "Bob Marley ...

read more

The Darkness of Love

pdf iconDownload PDF

pp. 63-110

When Handle woke at ten in the morning, he got up and walked to the far window. Hung over, he half expected the sound of traffic or the fading drone of an airliner as he lifted the window. He had lived in the city for so long that even after two weeks in Tennessee, he found the quiet of the green ...

read more

Flipflops

pdf iconDownload PDF

pp. 111-124

"I know a joke," I say. Alice is next to me, lying on a canvas recliner in a stylish striped bathing suit, legs crossed, beads of sweat sliding across her oiled skin. Her sunglasses, perfect brown eggs, rest on the bridge of her nose at the proper angle, her lips part to the precise degree of desire. Even her feet, busy against one another ...

read more

The Right Thing

pdf iconDownload PDF

pp. 125-144

His feet are the size of thumbs, the segments of his toes no larger than grains of rice. I slap him on the bottom the way I've heard to do. He squeaks and sucks in air, then begins to cry. His fingers bend, grasp for something. I put my little finger in his hand. He clings to it. It's enough for now. He cries ...