Pamplona | Kathryn Campo Bowen

Last, um,               my friend Sam let me come over. Sit in the sun, aim my face at the sky. Shootin’ the                              whatever on the porch, while he ducked under his self-made tarp tent. There

Dark Ages | Andrea Harper

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Marcus and I share a two-bedroom garage apartment, and he has filled it with horses—some are small figurines with stout legs and straining muscles, some are broad, shiny busts, with veiny eyes

Netflix Thriller | Paul Rabinowitz

We watched free solo about the guy who climbed el capitan with no ropes always one finger grip away from death and as we sat glued to our computer screen for two

Doe | Ali Bryan

A blue backpack, filthy, open. Five-year-old Liza was miles from the campsite—metres? What was a mile? Minutes. It had taken her roughly five to get here, to this tree with its fat

Lean Against It | Robert Long Foreman 

I was walking into the building where I work. It’s on Illinois, off West Market. When I was halfway in, I heard a man shout, “He’s leaning against it!”  I don’t know

Wood Lilies | Emma Grillo

The only flowers you can’t pick on the island are wood lilies. They shoot out of the ground in clusters, orange with brown flecks on their petals, and in 1978 the state

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