Fiction & Poetry

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In the car horn valley
I attend a blowout sale

The first time we saw Roadkill Rick was, fittingly enough, on the side of the road carefully inspecting a raccoon.

I have died many times. Sometimes I just need five minutes to die again.

I couldn’t stand it anymore. I was chain-smoking. I had paced a trail to oblivion in the floor of the apartment.

Embarrassed on family spike

I climbed up the ladder inside my cell every day to the little square opening high above.

It was dawn when I crept inside his room.

every morning began with the short trip across the village to the baker.

Dale dropped the roach in an empty beercan, blew dopesmoke at his laptop screen and typed:

The Scientist was attempting to occupy his time.