Some friends of mine took him for a ride out to Broad Channel, you know that enclave of crazies that live in houses on stilts on the island in Jamaica Bay on Cross Bay Boulevard. He might find that when the tide comes in, the water might be a little deepe

But the things I do know are the ways we've changed since we'd fallen into each other.

She really was a beautiful skankFeral coated and dusted with sugarAn inked up divining rodTelling us on earth what God thinks

The end, she thought, when did we end? She knew it had to end. Ten months in and it was no different from the day they met. Then again, the day they met it seemed as if they’d known each other ten years. That was the nature of their relationship she

First have a good window seat

There was nothing on the lake but a / faint sailboat and a shadowy gull.

Up to the loft we went, shedding clothes all the way. No one is home, but the place smells like the fresh cookies my mom had made before she left. It's dark and my lips hit his…

...cinched the handcuffs.

After it is over, I go out into the world, to the café. The flower sellers are setting up their booth outside the glass doors. Classical guitar over the speakers. A soft rain falling. Heads bowed, reading the news. Coffee, croissants, cappuccino. This g

Lucy entered the open door next; she had been inside the cat litter house before: Brother Fran didn’t bother to cover turds he’d laid. He spoke of the outdoors: lizards he’d separated from their heads, world of work.

One fine afternoon a few months after her husband's death, Susan awoke in the porcelain tub of her gigantic, empty house with: two champagne bottles, one only half-empty; a Xanax bottle, completely empty; and a loaded gun, which was most startling

Many men ran about, some retreating fully and others digging in along side of me. Some of them without a shirt or helmet, but all with blood shot eyes. My brothers and I dug in hard and set our sights on our enemies.

You had autumn in your hair I liked the way you sat at a table And drank champagne My past years have carried me To sixteen countries Christ, we have so much to share Listen, I know how the other half lives And we can’t live like that an

Minimalist/realist short-story writer Raymond Carver was fired from his job as an editor of science textbooks because of his inappropriate writing style.

Sam tapped the stick against the small mountain of trash bags, a dull thud predictably followed by a dozen rats scurrying out of the mass. He's started to make a personal game of it — seeing how many he can kill with one whack; if he swings hard enough, and in…