Stories tagged summer

Cooter Shorts

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I watched a skinny woman in cooter shorts walk across the parking lot to Freddie Boy’s Discount Market. She was smoking and talking on a cell phone. Her dirty blond hair was in a ponytail. She had a blue butterfly tattoo on her left ankle. She wasn’t sexy


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Winter makes me reconsider.


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When Quince came rolling up into my front yard that morning, we were up to our neck in August, staring down a seventh-grade year that had crept perilously close when we weren’t looking. I’m thirty-five years clear of it now, and I can still sense Texas on


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I flung the basketball at the hoop and Cooper shagged the ball. He was the luckiest bastard I knew. ...

Summertime City

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Columbus Avenue, I’m the tense union of poor city rich city/ gentrification.


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Thirty years later – and all the years in between – Alan Walton would remember how insidious it was, the anger that started that night with Quinton Harris, fifteen years old and the undisputed leader of the troop, and spread like a virus to the other boys

No Rocks On This End

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Take a flying leap?Mother would never agreeSo away from the campground we sneakTo show the boy where I was a boySummer day shirtless with swimsuits onOne hundred degrees walking through the treesThe season early with winter runoffWater here still seventy feet deepHoping the…


11451145 views2020 comments1111 favs lick you ice cream, little pink tongue like a cat's, flick, flick... lick fast, girl, the heat's gonna melt it...

Dairy Queen Lust

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I, personally, just had no interest in having some pimply-faced moron stick his tongue down my throat.

Get Well Soon

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The boy lay silent for a moment, listening to the youth-quake of splashes and giggles that filled the pool. He would have liked to ogle the winsome beautes, the ‘girleens’ as he liked to call them, but seeing as how his mother was present, not to mention

dog day aftersummernoon

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Cracked windows, popsicles, Madonna videos, more of Jeff's corners

The Artist's Conk

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Whenever talk dies, or darkness gathers too closely around the breakfast table, everyone knows the list of ritual activities we can brightly suggest to skip the day forward.

Pineapple Juice

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He always sat at the same table, underneath one of the umbrellas, his legs stretched out to their full extent. The man would sit like this, not sleeping, but not doing anything, except sipping on a pineapple juice that the waiter would refill several time


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The door of the Continental opened an old man, a true geezer, stepped out, scratched his baked potato-shaped head. He was wearing sky blue polyester pants, Velcro shoes, a white striped polo that accentuated his man boobs and turkey neck. This man hunched

Summer Bop & Some Are Not

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This is Bop even if you think it doesn't sound like that.