We pull off at the side of the highway in Somewhere, Maine looking to sing to the snails. There’s a deep shoulder of gravel here, so we assume it to be a parking lot. The sky and the water and the... [+]
Short Fiction
We pull off at the side of the highway in Somewhere, Maine looking to sing to the snails. There’s a deep shoulder of gravel here, so we assume it to be a parking lot. The sky and the water and the... [+]
On our last day at the beach the sun came out, and the fog, which for that whole week had draped the shore in a veil of cotton, burned away: we discovered there was an ocean here, after all. It... [+]
It had been nearly fourteen years, but there you were on my morning commute. On your way to work like nothing had happened. Both of us on our ways to work as if nothing had happened.
You looked... [+]
On his way out the door to a meeting with a client, the husband said, “We should have a baby,” and the wife, pointing to one of the windows that overlooked the driveway, said, “We already have... [+]
My very dear Claire,
I already know so much about you, and yet I have never actually seen you. For six months now, I have been passing you, sensing you, hearing you, closing my eyes when I... [+]