by E.H. Jacobs

I don’t know when the nickname “Pelican” completely replaced my father’s given name, but that’s what he’s been called since before I was born fifty years ago in a community hospital in Brooklyn, a hospital whose name has disappeared into the chasm of memory. My Mom, his second wife, the one who stuck with him long enough to procreate, called him Pelican–not honey, or dear, or even asshole, which was how I heard his third wife refer to him. The first time I remember actually hearing his name was when I accompanied him to a doctor’s appointment and the assistant called out “Earl?”–and I looked around to see who was being summoned–before she called out “Earl Roberts?” and I saw him stand. Continue reading

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Eulogy for Stanley and Rose

by Lenny DellaRocca

The woman downstairs has hired a man to tear apart everything
she owns. Since her husband died
she carries grief around
in a suitcase of birthdays.
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Women Like Them

by Lana Spendl

When we were students in this new town, my friend Annabel’s house stood on a hill. A cracked staircase led to the front door, and inside, incense and music drifted in air. Throws beckoned from every corner. Sepia photos stood in old frames. And always something held magic for Annabel. Always something deserved to be opened like fruit with her hands.

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Stalker Stalked

An excerpt from the novel by Lee Matthew Goldberg

“Hello, Vodka,” I said to the third martini I’d made myself that night.

I had a little neon lamp that said Vodka o’clock, a lit-up palm tree in pink with a bottle for a trunk. I liked to turn it on when I was home alone making cocktails. The sweet buzz it offered, the comforting pink blur. Since I drank martinis so often, you’d think I’d be good at making them, but mine consisted of straight alcohol in a glass with a pickled green olive from a jar. Classy, Lexi. Continue reading


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The Summer They Kept Dying

by Greg November

In August, astronomers discovered a hole in the universe: a billion light years across with no matter in it. I mentioned this to Jonas as we ripped up carpet, some of it practically new, in yet another old-timer’s room. It was the summer they kept dying. Continue reading

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