Issue 13 / Spring 2018 I believe Misha may be dying. It is hard to tell. He weaves like a drunken sailor, hind feet slithering out from under him on the wood floor. He’d lost a third of his body weight when he went into the hospital two weeks ago; now that he’s...
Issue 13 / Spring 2018 The address on the flyer led him to a quiet industrial estate with a neon road sign: “Ready to change your life? TED IS HERE!”` Ken parked his dusty pick-up and checked his teeth. He had a pen in his jacket and clutched a new pocket-sized...
Issue 13 / Spring 2018 Jill stood at the end of the driveway, her hands cupped, nearly closed. One hand was full of cheese cubes, which left a residue on her skin. The other was full of apple slices, which left a sticky sweetness. She pushed her sunglasses down...
Issue 13 / Spring 2018 So, I’ll just go straight into it. First question:?What, to you, does it mean to be African? Well, to borrow from Ryan Coogler, I’ll say it is a thread—weft or warp—running through & across the Earth, this fabric we know by no other...
Issue 13 / Spring 2018 Ella veers and ducks to avoid the thorns but it’s no use: her arms and legs are full of pricks and she is bleeding in at least two spots. The helmet slides down over her left eye, then right, depending on the direction she swerves, but if...
