THIS WINTER by Bridget Kiley

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THIS WINTER This winter, in collaboration with Covid-19 Bridget Kiley I never wore socks before quarantine, but now I seem to always be...

MY SUMMER AS A RENT-A-COP By Joe Albanese

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MY SUMMER AS A RENT-A-COPBy Joe Albanese Amusement parks are only amusing to its employees in an ironic sense. My summer working there a s security guard in the summer of 2016 could...

RE-READING THE LADY CHATTERLEY TRIALS IN NEW YORK AND LONDON AFTER 60 YEARS ...

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RE-READING THE LADY CHATTERLEY TRIALS AFTER 60 YEARS The three versions of Lady Chatterley’s Lover that DH Lawrence wrote in the late 1920s are each progressively more anally erotic....

MY FATHER’S FEET by Ann Zuccardy

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MY FATHER’S FEETBy Ann E. Zuccardy   The cinderblock walls were painted what was probably supposed to be soothing blue and the windows, heavy and industrial, were swathed in cheerful, frayed calico.  The autumnal...

THE MOST SCARIEST THING by Riley Winchester

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The Most Scariest Thing I am obsessed with time. The obsession started my sophomore year of college when I had to take a science class with a lab in order to fulfill the science...

JAM SESSION by Svitlana Matiushenko-Musyj

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 “Rules for happiness: something to do, someone to love, something to hope for.” ― Immanuel Kant      She was challenging herself again, “Can I do it? Maybe I can...

THE PSYCHOPATH By Wendy Swift

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THE PSYCHOPATHby Wendy Swift I struggle to grasp that Danny is an alcoholic, despite the glaring evidence. I understand drinking is a way of life for him, to the...

TASTING NOTES by Shanti L. Nelson

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We’re deep into our routine when quarantine hits. Once a week, chocolate cake and instant coffee. Black with two white sugars, never brown. He’s always taken it this way. “Since the war.”...

SILVER SHADOW by Rekha Valliappan

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            'We swung over the hills and over the town and back again, and I saw how a man can be master of a craft, and how a craft...

MICHAEL BRANCH AND THE ONLY TIME MY FATHER EVER SMOKED POT By Leslie...

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MICHAEL BRANCH AND THE ONLY TIME MY FATHER EVER SMOKED POTby Leslie Bohem In the spring of 1971, I dropped out of UC Berkeley midway through my junior year...