Doubting the Enterprise | Brady Brickner-Wood

On the morning of his death, Dumont is late. We don’t blame him—we like Dumont. There’s no denying he has a sweetness to him, an inviting, innocent smile that’s not worth murdering.

Ping-pong | Amanda Nyren

            Ping-pong is great foreplay, I tell you one night. You’re already in bed, while I stand over it, brushing my teeth. I say I read it

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

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