When the writer Stratis Panotopoulos died, none of his editors knew it.
Sarah never said it, but she agreed with the other kids that riding on the bus over Meredith Moore’s skull felt like riding over a big rock.
Odessa Ross, widow and owner of the Fulton Hideaway Motel, was one of twelve who survived the grocery store massacre in Montgomery, Kansas, that April, and one of seven who escaped to the parking lot uninjured...
Stu and I were the paramedics on call and the first to arrive at Rusty’s Saloon, where my Uncle Lou had died alone and upright in a booth at the back of the bar.
Arrive early on a grey-stained morning at the café she has chosen. Press your face against the locked glass door.
They finished the dam during my last year of high school. Adam Kyle’s older brother was encased within that dam, his bones pulsating with baritone frequencies whenever they ran big water.
When he was six, his father held a knife to his throat and threatened to kill him if he ever touched his LPs again.
Frankie Thomas was a kid we all knew, a kid we all picked on at recess because he was slow and fat and lousy at kickball.
Jillian and I are sitting on the hard-packed earth in front of a large fire, the flames illuminating the faces of the others in the circle.
Apparently my father, in his later years, developed a taste for being penetrated rectally by young boys.