Apr 25, 2026 | Fiction |
That dope, what crap, he thought angrily. What did that frog know about it? Had Pierre here ever roustabouted in heat over a hundred under Gleb damn Neeling? Who’d give a guy a stout poke in the ribs with a wrench because some minor safety protocol had been (briefly)...
Jun 14, 2025 | Fiction |
On Wyoming Street in the evening a patent Irish stumbled by, some crazy old meathead in a motley of rags and filthy buck-skin, wild tufts of hair sticking out the ears, the eyes burning now like hot stars, now clamped shut in a kind of ecstasy, and he lurched and...
Mar 27, 2021 | Fiction |
The words in the book, incidentally, were about life on a dying planet named Lingo-Three, whose inhabitants resembled American automobiles. They had wheels. They were powered by internal combustion engines. They ate fossil fuels. They weren’t manufactured,...
Oct 12, 2019 | Fiction |
That night, at Boris’ — lying drunk on my half of the batik-draped mattress — I tried to remember what Pippa had looked like. But the moon was so large and clear through the uncurtained window that it made me think instead of a story my mother had told me, about...
Apr 21, 2018 | Fiction |
That evening, sometime after the advertised hour, Mr. Salter alighted at Boot Magna Halt. An hour earlier, at Taunton, he had left the express, and changed into a train such as he did not know existed outside the imagination of his Balkan correspondents; a single...
