A new kind of literary pulse

They did it for the hell of it. They knew they wouldn't last. Their friends knew; their families knew; even their dog knew, though it wasn't invited to the wedding.
It was fun, especially when they... [+]

I. Sober
Mrs. Anna Shaw dreaded Saturdays, though if you asked her why, she wouldn't have known exactly what to say. "Dinner just doesn't feel right," she might say, tugging thoughtfully at he... [+]

Across a wood-grain bar in southern Minnesota on the way to Buddy Holly roller coaster in slower Iowa, I lay a few dollars on the bar for the sixpack of Blatz (cheapest they got and straight from... [+]

This job is a grand. We’re supposed to deliver the piano from a suburban chateau into a self-storage facility. Why doesn’t matter. Pick-up address, how many floors down; delivery address, how... [+]

"She's a difficult pleasure," I said of my ex-wife. I was standing at the front door of her house, talking to her new partner, Sammy, a woman. My ex-wife, Lily, was not there.
We both took in... [+]

In front of him, for nearly every minute he was awake, there was a screen.
He tried to recall a time when it wasn’t this way. He couldn’t, so he watched old movies to try to remember.... [+]

She sleeps like a dead weight now beside me, lowered into the night, the ropes of the day swaying around her. We know nothing about each other really. She does not know how often my ex-lover visits me... [+]

He was at Coles when he realised he didn't love his husband anymore.
They had met at university through the Queer Department's annual disco – he'd spotted Dan in the soft light of the dance... [+]

I met Sarkas at a club called Pose. Rolling on molly, eager to swallow the world, dancing with our hips and mouths pressed together before I even knew his name. Light ricocheted off sweat-slick skin... [+]

The weather was good today, you answer whenever I ask how are you, how was your day. I don’t know when we stopped talking about what mattered the most because you won’t tell me. I ask are you... [+]

It began at a sports bar, the kind of place the realtor would call "happy-go-lucky." In other words, if your barstool wasn't sticky, assume it had just been swabbed clean by CSI. There was graffiti... [+]

I remember when my world divided into male and female, when the girls screamed “Shaun has cooties!” across the playground and flushed with what I thought was anger. I remember being in a... [+]