• Fiction/Poetry

    The Green Fairy

    “Damn it!” Lon slurred, tilting the bottle upside down. “We’re all out.” Some of the absinthe splashed from his glass to his neckcloth, leaving unseemly green splotches on the white linen. Ricard laughed, dealing another hand as he spoke. “I do think you’ve had quite enough anyway, old friend.” Lon ignored him, raising his glass to his lips and further sloshing out more green liquid. “Did anyone bring any more? Where are we going to find any in this hell hole? Merde, they probably make their own grog in bathtubs. Liquor from pommes de terre.” I picked up my fresh cards and replied, “It’s not so bad here, Lon. Have you seen the…

  • sweeney
    Fiction/Poetry

    Fiction: The Night Guard

    It had rained all day, and in the late evening mist still rose from the pavement. This made Stan’s job harder. More room for error: distraction, misplaced evidence, footprints. So much more could go wrong when the world was sopping wet. Stan knew there was no room for error. He usually transported the bags himself, and saw no need to involve anyone else this time. Pulling up to the warehouse, he slammed the gear shift a little too jerkily, the restored Chevelle jolting forward. He yanked out the key and rose from the car. Stan tried to blend in with the wet night. Black leather jacket, dark jeans, black leather…

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