His eyes didn’t smile. Thin lips and ungenerous, intermittent staying in the house and in it. And in it he took off and went places, no one knows. …
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February 8th, 2010 There were twelve beds in the hospital ward today; tomorrow there will be eleven. … February 8th, 2010 Our supervisors have purchased bullwhips. They are intended to keep us obedient and productive. Violence persuades. … February 8th, 2010 “Most of the lanterns were broked in the stampede,” Cooch says, and he lifts a candle to his face. … February 8th, 2010 A dirty jar on a top shelf falls over, drops to the concrete floor and explodes. Glass shards fly… my mother’s bare legs… my baby sister… … February 8th, 2010 We’re riding together in a cab, drunk on the wine juice boxes squeezed clean of the eight-dollar mauve she kept all night in her leather purse, straps dirtied with the grunge and grime of East Village pub-crawled floors… … February 8th, 2010 When you want a quick, on the slip, culture fix, come on over to Moon Milk Review, where you can always find free fiction, artwork and music, all in one place. … |
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