Fiction - Year V - Number 42 - November 2020

                                                                                                         Where the Money Isn’t                                                                                Ron Singer              “Because that’s where the money is,” was either Willie “The Actor” Sutton’s reply to some journalist’s softball question, “Why do you rob banks?” --or fake...

            It has been snowing for eight days.  Steady snow, constant, hour after hour.  Sometimes heavy, occasionally just in wisps.  The wind has come up a couple of times and stirred things, whipping the...

            All flowers must eventually wilt.             Sweat clings to his pasty skin, pooling at the base of his back. Are his hands too clammy? Is his face pallid and sickly? And why does he...

Pulpit Rock: A Reverie in Three Acts Roger McKnight                I Hank Standish saved his and Hanna’s serving cup after City bus 12 rammed a curb, but nothing stopped the chocolate sundae from swishing onto her white...

I make my way down the stairs, careful not to overtax the joints. Small, deliberate steps are the rhythm of my days: slow and steady, unexciting and painless. But as soon as I sit...

I had hitched down to L.A. to visit my friend Paul back in the 70s when all you needed to get someplace was a thumb. I was going to school at U of Montana...