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Traffic

7/26/2020

 
​by NEVA BRYAN
Picture
Walther PPS by Brandon Jasper | Flickr

​The exotic dancer is more exotic than most. She has a vestigial tail that rests just above her butt crack.

It hangs over a wisp of translucent fabric that could optimistically be called a thong. The tail is a little nub about the length of my pinky finger. When the dancer wiggles it, her glitter- dusted tail shimmers pink and silver beneath the stage lights. The music is loud. Throbbing. Perfect for the way she dances.

Her stage name is Cosmic Flickers. From the looks of the crowd, she’s the club’s most popular dancer.
​

This whole scene makes me want to puke. I have to remind myself that I’m here to find my sister.



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A Fitting Tribute

7/12/2020

 
​by TIM FRANK
Picture
shadow boxing by abby chicken | Flickr

Jimmy Ward shadowboxed in his bedroom as the morning light seeped through the blinds creating a dense silhouette. His joints were weak but he still had the moves.

“You'll damage the lining,” said his wife, Ruby, appearing at the door. “It's the best suit we could afford and you're bulging at the seams as it is. Hey, what's wrong champ?”

“I don't want to go the market, I hate that place,” he said lowering his arms and crossing them defensively.

“No, Jimmy, have you forgotten already?” Ruby said, fiddling with his blood red tie. “We're going to see the Queen at Buckingham Palace. You're going to be honoured.”

“Oh, oh, yes, I remember now, the Queen.”
​


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Playing the Dying Game

7/4/2020

 
​by Harri B. Cradoc
Picture
Coronavirus by Tim Dennell | Flickr


​“Let’s just say I don’t like taking showers alone,” said the man on the waiting room sofa.

The tousle-haired woman in the corner chair near the potted plant had picked out a wrinkled leaf of the variegated Schefflera and was attempting to straighten its lifeline. She rubbed the plant’s golden spots between one thumb and finger, and then, with a momentary tug at her facemask, uncovered a smile that stretched her twilight red lips. They pursed like a last kiss of the sun.

“Those yellow marks don’t come off,” he said.

“No? This is what I do to make everything be right again.  Rubbing is the key.”
​

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