The audience murmured. Every set of eyes raced over their cards, firm hands tapping them with their mutli-colored daubers when appropriate. Some bared their teeth, slapped the end of the table, cursed under their breath. Chris leaned against the wall and took slow sips of ...
The rotted wood caved in and his foot disappeared into it. He yanked it back out, his shoe and jeans covered in warped splinters; the door swung open. He peered into the house, saw nothing but a cavernous void. “Why, Mike?” James said. He tugged on Mike’s shirt. “Why do we have to go inside? Ther...
F. Gonzalez It’s not often that I’m solicited for introductions or to write about a colleague. The few times I’ve done it the writer in question is (a) dead, (b) a peer, colleague or friend, and, in one rare case, (c) somewhat of a legend in the field. &n...