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Eddie Dorsett was a dumb kid. Nobody could dispute it. More than that, Eddie Dorsett was a fat, slothful, whining, shilly-shallying, phlegmatic zero of a kid, the lowest of the third-graders for certain and a prime contender for the lowest of the entire R
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He reached into the bag on the table and pulled out a ten inch record, sleeved in brown paper, with a circle cut out to display the label information. He handled it delicately, like a fresh egg.
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Yahweh’s a betting deity, as bad as Lucifer at times. If you don’t believe me, look at the duck-billed platypus. Yahweh lost that time. So did the duck, but that’s another story.
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We lingered there in that room for a few moments, stuck in the awkward goo of rejection and regret. At some point, I’m not sure when, I left, found a bathroom down the hall and washed my ear.
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118011
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On an overcast and humid day in August, Jesus—with Dad’s permission, of course—decided to make his grand return.
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113542
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They leaned against the hood of his pickup, which sat heavy on its wheels, the back of it filled with the things that he’d held out of the yard sale three days earlier.
“When’re you leaving?” she asked.
“Early. Get on down the road. Shut ’er down ea
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Butchie was the one who heard about the bonfire happening over on Harrison Avenue.
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5010
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Gary Coyne stared at the bathroom mirror. His hair was a muscular wave of obsidian, all grey banished by an application of “Hair Color for Men.” He drew back his lips, flicked a flake of peanut skin from his teeth. No coffee, no cola, no red wine, not…
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...the squawking of the seagulls orchestrated my theme music.
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Puddles—not his real name, as you’ve probably gathered, but the kind of nickname a fat kid got tagged with in our neighborhood—kept stopping short, picking underwear out of his ass or taking a breather. This had the unfortunate byproduct of my crashing in
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He looked at the floor to avoid the sight of her painted lips.
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119231
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Every damned time we came back to Richland County, I told JuneBug to just do whatever she had to do but to leave me and Skeeter out of it. And every goddamned time, we ended up somewhere like this, the two sisters hook-armed and conspiratorial, and Skeete
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Richard scheduled an emergency appointment on the eighth day while his daughter held her face close to Ralph's face and kissed Ralph's head repeatedly in the manner of a question.
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When I ate with my girls, Bliss and Victoria, I would lift my head up and look at us eating until I could imagine him chiding me. “Our daughters are looking more and more like you each day,” he’d say. “Fat!” I didn’t feel like eating when I thought abo
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19595
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I danced for the Lord.Earlier, I lay on my grandmother's sofa, feeding the dog chocolate, considering the televegangelized tears of the preacher. He was moving me. I was stirred. He asked the souls where he was and the souls at home if they wanted to be better, if they…
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