Category Archives: Fiction

It’s taking her forever to figure out her life. Rosemary is more than half-way through her expected span. She likes to think she has been paying attention. Most of the time she feels like she’s making her way with her … Continue reading →

Mitch has made his way to them by now, and Natalie begins to simper, at least in Phoebe’s eyes. It isn’t jealousy. Phoebe isn’t gay, and if she were she wouldn’t want Natalie. No, even though one friend tried to … Continue reading →

Phoebe has to return to the party. She’s some kind of co-hostess for her mateless friend. But there’s a reason she usually doesn’t give or go to parties, and it’s keeping her here for a few more minutes. She touches … Continue reading →

Phoebe remembers being a Camp Fire Girl. Her name there was Netopu, pronounced phonetically and translated “makes friends,” but that phrase seemed to her as untrue as the achievements for which she was awarded ugly beads. She liked it that … Continue reading →

With the kids getting older and Carol not earning, I had to find a better-paying job. I fell into the extermination business for about seven years. I don’t know why I stayed in it so long; I hated it. But … Continue reading →

Looking back on it now, I know there’s a momentum to life that no one warned me about. Teachers and TV shows and even my parents told me not to pressure myself, that there would be plenty of time to … Continue reading →

Cornsilk is how her hair looked when I first met her. We were 16, and the century was 66 years old. Now we’re into a new millennium, and Carol’s hair isn’t long or silky any more. It’s still blonde. She … Continue reading →

“Oh Brad – I felt like a piece of shit. It didn’t help that she was young and lovely. I mean it would have been awful no matter who slipped and fell, but it was of course easier to feel … Continue reading →

It was a demonstration, but they couldn’t tell if it was for Haiti, Palestine, or janitors. They were so accustomed to Friday financial district activism that they hardly paused. The waiter nodded toward the street with a fond look on … Continue reading →

“So how does a pension actuary differ from the other kind?” Brad asked. He leaned forward in his chair and the buttons pulled across the belly of his blue shirt. “Actually, it’s just an alphabetic matter,” Susan explained. He heard … Continue reading →