• Storm Debris by Liam Sweeny

    I didn’t realize that cars bled. I guess it’s because we pay regularly to keep it from happening, and because even a paper-cut on a car can leave us holding plastic over our heads as we wait on the highway for AAA. But Division Street was a pool of carnage. True, it was mostly flood […]

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  • Jailbreaker in the Briar Patch by Liam Sweeny

    I ran. I ran fast as I could, tripped over my laces and eased my body into forward leaps that turned into junk street somersaults. I ran past Ritchie’s Market, past Harry Dzembo as he held the broom in his hands, slack-jawed. I heard him ask me what the fuck, but I was gone, man. […]

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  • Knuckle Sandwiches by Liam Sweeny

    The growing intersection had flow. A daycare center looked on while a locally renown ice cream slinger beckoned in neon with frosty fingers. Freddy wasn’t tempted as he glanced over his shoulder at the people lined up to get a cold belly on a hot day. He was working on getting his bony ass cheeks […]

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  • Road-worn and Dirty by Liam Sweeny

    My granite face, pock-marked by the razor hail. My scar-spangled arms sway in the wind as I trek through the expanse of the train yard that’s just another pit-stop in my Hell tour. Gut tight; my demon stomach muscles stab through the tears in my T-shirt. I lost my coat to a drifter on the […]

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  • Horse Trading by Liam Sweeny

    I see an old man in the mirror. He has more wrinkles than the last time I saw him, and there’s blood cracking in some of the folds of his skin. I run my hands under the blast of cold water coming out in spurts and wipe my face, wipe last night away. But I can’t get rid of the stain. Maybe if I hadn’t passed out in the kitchen curled around the bottle of Knob Creek. Maybe if I could remember what I did to Kenny.

    Well, maybe if I could remember something better.

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  • Jonas Turley by Liam Sweeny

    Jonas Turley spent his last breath in a frayed easy chair, listening to a vacuum that reverberated with the sounds he grew up to. In the early morning hour, the north wing of the Phoenix had exhausted its revelry, hallway empty except for old Barney Ellis, a down-town drunk who squatted every night when the […]

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