#almost5q

[almost5q]

#25, summer Elisabeth Reidy Denison’s writing has appeared in Bodega, SAND, Comparative Literature Undergraduate Journal, and on Coffee and Stink. A native of Massachusetts and a graduate of the University of St. Andrews in Scotland, she now lives in New York City where she is on the editorial staff of The New Yorker.

[almost5q]

#24, summer

MEETING GOD AT 11 AM BEN EHRLICH

There is the story of a spiritual seeker in India who, upon hearing from his teacher that everyone is God, every single thing is God, went on down the road in awe of all that he saw. "The grass is God!" he thought, "The dust is God!" "The elephant in the road is God!" only he did not notice the man on top of the elephant shouting "Get out of the way! the idea perhaps being that while you are admiring one God you are ignoring another, and that might be the one you really need to listen to.

Of course this would mean that James is God. James who meets me here every week is God. James who last time told me the story about how everyone is God is God. My friend James is God, and God is never late, and we always order the same thing.

Then I must be God as well. Sitting at our usual table, I must be God as well. Waiting here at the one-hour table for “short-term customers only” for well over an hour, I must be God as well. So you could say that God is the kind of customer who overstays his welcome, according to the waitress.

And so the waitress is also God, I guess. The smiling waitress is also God. The smiling waitress who on my bill writes "Thank you, Patience" is also God. Patience is the name of God, and God and blond, and around my age.

God God God. God God God God God. We live in a world surrounded by God. The sterling silver cappuccino machine is God, The family of four each with an iPhone is God, The girl with red hair and Down syndrome selling home baked cookies is God, God God God God God God God but it is 11:45 the seat across from me is empty, and God knows that the only God I have ever wanted to see is the one who will apparently not be showing up for coffee with me today.

BIO: Ben helped found The Beautiful Brain and has been previously published in New England Review and Nautilus Magazine.

[almost5q]

#23, summer

from 30 Days to Die, Finalist, 3rd Annual Fiction e-Chapbook Contest DUSTIN LUKE NELSON

BIO: Dustin Luke Nelson is the author of the forthcoming collection "in the office hours of the polar vortex" (Robocup) and the chapbook “Abraham Lincoln” (Mondo Bummer). His 90-minute performance film "STRIKE TWO" debuted with Gauss PDF and his performance piece "Applause" debuted at the Walker Art Center's Open Field. His poems have appeared in the Best American Experimental Writing 2015, Fence Magazine, Paper Darts, Opium, 3:AM, the Nervous Breakdown, and elsewhere. His digital self is housed at dustinlukenelson.com.

[almost5q]

#22, summer

OLIVER ZARANDI BIO: Oliver Zarandi's latest stories have appeared in Hobart, HTMLGIANT, The Quietus, The Boiler, The Bohemyth and CCLaP. You can contact him on Twitter: @zarandi.

[almost5q]

#21, spring

from Music Lessons, Finalist, 3rd Annual Poetry e-Chapbook Contest TASHA COTTER

BIO: Tasha Cotter's first full-length collection of poetry, Some Churches, was released in 2013 with Gold Wake Press. Her work has appeared in or is forthcoming in NANO Fiction, Verse Daily, The Rumpus, and elsewhere. You can find her online at www.tashacotter.com. 

[almost5q]

#20, spring

 Wonder Springs ELIZABETH MCGUIRE

 The check-out line at Valley Foods stretched clear to the back wall of the store, but Kenny knew it would move quickly. It was a line full of regular customers, mostly locals clutching bottles, not of milk or orange juice, but “packaged liquor” that required a special license the other grocery stores in town didn’t have.  Bottles to be consumed while still in the bag. Bottles left scattered and empty on sidewalks and along the road. The majority got charged on food stamp SNAP cards, with the option of cash back. Customers step up, swipe their cards and walk away happily with a bottle of whiskey or tequila or gin, and a fifty or so in cash. The cash was usually spent on lottery tickets and cigarettes sold right by the exit. Kenny was sure there was a kid or two at home who could use a banana, or maybe some bread instead.

Kenneth Scott Morgan turned thirty-five eight months ago. A few days after his birthday celebration, he was laid off.  These days, if he didn’t force himself to get up and out of the house early, he might not get up at all. It was late summer and scorching hot. His daily check-in at the Valley Foods jobs board was mainly because it was one of the few walkable destinations from their place. The board rarely posted anything worthwhile, but he considered checking it as his “due diligence.” The fact is, it was Citizen’s Bank that transferred him his wife and Alison clear across the country a little less than a year ago. He was transferred with a promotion to branch manager. But less than three months after they moved, “Citizens” laid him off. Closed down the whole damn office. It did not help knowing that the recession was crushing banks across the country, and a big percentage of the smaller branches were shutting down. The whole ordeal was like a bad joke, including how “Citizen’s” delivered the news. One afternoon, out of nowhere, Mike Kelley, the regional manager, shows up. This was a guy Kenny had never met. Wasn’t even sure he’d ever heard his name. True, Mike was a few years younger and a little more of what the bank considered “polished.” He was certainly no genius though. He brought along Kasha, a big eyed woman from HR, who wore a frozen furrow of concern on her forehead that was pretty distracting. Kenny kept expecting her to jump in on his behalf, but she never uttered a single word. They sat down in Kenny’s office and in less than 5 minutes, Mike handed over the “tough” news that this was Kenny’s last day. Then, without losing eye contact, he slid a thick file folder across the desk. On the cover were photos of well dressed,  sophisticated people, their faces hopeful, even smiling, as they supposedly received the same news. Inside were pamphlets with titles like “Dealing with Job Loss” and “Networking on a Budget. The folder also and included information on insurance for the unemployed and a mental health hotline. To Kenny, it was like a punch in the face.

Since then, not a whole lot has improved, and his prospects remain practically nonexistent. So when Kenny and Alison had to give up their internet service, he didn’t think it cut his chances much. It’s not easy to meet people, let alone “sell” yourself, especially in this kind of predicament, in this kind of place. Wonder Springs, a town of 35,000 people in the middle of the Mojave Desert, not far from Death Valley. On the map it looks relatively close to Palm Springs and LA, but to Kenny, it didn’t feel close to anything. They couldn’t go back to Tampa, at least not now. The move was too expensive and there was nothing to go back to anymore. For the time being they had to sit tight and do their best to get by, and the bar for doing their best got lowered by the day.

When he was first laid off, Kenny woke up feeling anxious, like the floor dropped out from under him. He tried running, hoping to ease his nerves and find some perspective, but soon realized that jogging in the desert was just plain stupid. There was nowhere to go, and it didn’t feel like he was working through problems, it felt like punishment. Eventually he got into the habit of driving out into the desert, finding some comfort in the freedom and recklessness of sitting behind the wheel with his foot heavy on the accelerator.  And there was a time or two he came dangerously close to rocketing on to no return. The scope and scale of the landscape was like the moon or another planet, and Kenny couldn’t fathom how anyone could actually feel like they belong here, or that this was home. In his mind it held a challenge, an inhuman quality, and the ghost towns, abandoned mines and remnants of the deserted air force base somehow proved his point. It was certainly a far cry from the crowded urban beaches he and Alison came from.

One of his favorite spots in the desert was several miles out of town, near the mountain range off to the east. The road he takes is flat and empty and runs straight as an arrow along the Santa Fe railroad tracks. Eventually it comes to a steep pass that four different rail lines blaze through and Kenny would often make his way up to the pass overlook. There the open desert butts up against the mountains, and the pass forms a narrow gorge, where the air is still and whisper clear, and nothing but a few hawks float silently inside the chasm. Kenny loved to wait for the rumbling of the approaching locomotives as they start to gradually build off in the distance, creeping at first, gaining momentum for what seems an eternity. Eventually the pass is completely taken over, invaded by the crushing boom of the heavy, turning steel barreling through. He found it exhilarating and even a little frightening, and always made sure he got close enough to be shaken up a little. It took his mind off the monotony of what was now his every day.

           Outside the grocery store, some trucks were working on gas and electric lines. Municipal stuff. It was loud and dusty, so he didn’t hear his phone ring, just felt the vibration. It was Alison. She had taken a job at the coffee shop, which didn’t pay much but she thought it was healthy to get out. Healthy for both of them. Kenny crossed away from the construction to call her back. She picked up right away.

“Hey, how you doing?” Alison chirped.

“Good,” Kenny said. “You on break?”

“Yeah, but it’s slow, I don’t think everyone is back from vacation yet.” There was a military training base just north of Wonder Springs, and during the hottest part of the summer the families take vacations to get away from the heat while the kids are out of school.

“What have you been up to?” Alison asked. “Any news? Anything happening?”

He stared back up at the Valley Foods sign in the parking lot across the street. He bit his tongue and tried not to be sarcastic. He knew he was too sensitive. “Nothing much really, they seem to be doing a lot of work on the roads or something.” He said flatly.

“Why don’t you come down here, have a coffee, maybe we can go for Chinese later,” she said.

“I thought we were trying to conserve” Kenny said.

“Sweetie, we gotta eat,” Alison said lightly. “Come on, you need to interact with some people. Jerry is here. You should come down and have a coffee with him, say hello.”

One of the big trucks that was idling near the corner suddenly revved its engine, and a guy in a white hard hat wearing a tool belt loaded with heavy spools of wire, was raised up in a cherry-picker to the top of a utility pole. The guy in the lift was laughing and shouting down to the guy in the truck, just barely clearing the palms and electric lines. They seemed oblivious to any danger, but to Kenny it looked like an accident about to happen. He imagined the guy getting caught up in the wires, his arm sliced off or worse, as Alison’s words buzzed in his ears.

“Hello, Hello earth to Kenny…” After a moment, he realized she was still trying to convince him to come to the café.

“Sorry, it’s kind of loud out here with all these trucks.”

“Ok, I won’t ask you again,” she said. “But think about it.”

Jerry owned a novelty store that carried Navaho crafts, handmade jewelry, pottery and clothing, mainly for tourists. They also sold Lotto, which he referred to as his “bread and butter.” His store was right next to the coffee shop, which caused a minor problem since Kenny didn’t like Jerry much. They were completely different people, Jerry was outgoing and a big talker, and Kenny, even under the best of circumstances, avoided attention.

“Hey guess what?” Alison changed the subject. “Jerry is running for County Board. We have to vote for him,” she said.

“Why do I have to vote for him?” Kenny said. “Besides, no one is supposed to know who you vote for.” He got the impression Jerry was sitting right there, and that Alison was catering to both of them, and it bothered him.

“I know I know. But he has my vote!” Alison half shouted. Then added under her breath, “Kenny, come on, it can’t hurt to be on the right side of the city council... can it!? Quit making everything harder than it already is.”

“City Council?” Kenny asked, not that he cared. “I thought you said County Board.”

“I have no idea, but if I see his name I will vote for him,” Alison said defiantly.

Jerry was married, for the third time, to a timid woman named Martha, who worked at the library, and kept a hushed demeanor at all times. Her voice never rose above a whisper. Jerry on the other hand always seemed to be shouting, whether he was happy or mad, excited or somber, he managed to yell any thoughts he possessed. He also had a well-known drinking problem. It was surprising that he hadn’t been sued for some of the things he said or did under the influence of Jack Daniels, and no one could understand why he often took it out on sweet Martha. When drunk, he had a habit of embarrassing and belittling her, and then making up for it with garish turquoise jewelry from his shop. It was true that Jerry could be insanely funny at times, and that may have been his only saving grace. Kenny didn’t find him funny though. He knew Jerry had taken to asking Alison to “grab a bite” with him on a regular basis since starting at the café. Kenny wasn’t about to make a big deal out of it, partly because he didn’t want to give Jerry more credibility than he deserved. He also knew if he were still at the bank, he wouldn’t be as insecure. Lately, more and more of his old self slipped away, replaced by someone more introverted, more cautious, and more skeptical.

Kenny wanted to get off the phone. “I’ll come down, but later, after that asshole leaves.”

“Can’t you be a little friendly?” Alison said.

“You might find him entertaining but I’ve heard enough of his bullshit.” Kenny hung up, turned down a side street and headed back to the house.

At home, he straightened up the kitchen, making a neat pile of the newspapers that were scattered across the table. He cleaned up coffee grounds, rinsed the dishes and wrapped up the bread he’d left out from breakfast. The radio was on, set to the local station. He kept it on for background noise more than anything, definitely not for what you would call news. Stories covered things like how to make lemon bars or the locations of rummage sales. This morning however there was a report that caught Kenny’s attention. It was about a young high school boy and his mother who apparently shot up a propane tank that started a fire out in the desert north of town. That kind of activity was fairly common, except for the mother and son part, but blasting away at old refrigerators, microwaves, or desks was a pretty popular form of recreation. At least you would get that impression if you drove any of the back roads of the valley. These two attracted some attention because a significant fireball erupted; big enough to be seen for miles, and both the Police and Fire and Rescue were called. It was a lucky thing because the kid, Tommy Watts, had second degree burns, and the 25 mph winds spread the blaze until it was big enough to be classified as a wildfire. His mother was thrown in jail for child endangerment, and a slew of other things, none of which sounded good. The report went on to say the kid was gonna be ok, but would be hospitalized for weeks, adding that his father and stepmother would likely take over custody. There had been a court battle going on for months and the propane incident was expected to seal the deal. This all struck Kenny as part of the bigger story of Wonder Springs and why military base was brimming over with new recruits. The adults didn’t seem to offer much guidance or example to their kids, and the environment certainly didn’t offer much to aspire to, so the base looked pretty good. The story stuck with him, and was disturbing to Kenny on a couple of fronts. One, it was a depressing story of how one bad decision snowballed out of control in an instant, and two, Kenny caught himself thinking about whether there would be a job opening at the lumber yard, since the report mentioned that Tommy worked there.

A pile of laundry was staring at him from the bedroom, and it suddenly seemed like a good thing to tackle. He gathered it up into giant duffel, hoisted it over his shoulder and stepped back out into the heat. He’d throw it in at the Laundromat and then make his way over to the currency exchange to pay the electric bill. “What a day…” He thought as he stepped out. It was a long walk, and too hot to be enjoyable, but he tried to think of it as exercise. Approaching forty and all of a sudden he was looking at every move he made as exercise. Unfortunately the main street in town had the feel of a highway, so exercise or not, it wasn’t all that interesting.

The Laundromat was another place to try to avoid as much as possible. It was dingy, hot and sticky, with a stagnant detergent smell that had a choking effect if you were there for too long. Kenny tossed the laundry into the washer and parted with the pocket full of coins he’d scrounged together from the jar he now kept on his desk. He and Alison were not completely broke… yet. But they were both worried about money. Kenny tried to make a game out of squeezing what he could out of what they had, and got a kick out of making it a challenge each day. He’d even begun to ponder questions like… how far would I go for a dollar.

After starting the load of wash, he checked the machines on either side for coins. Two young women walked by and stopped out front, talking and laughing. They were carrying a stack of flyers and Kenny noticed that they’d taped one on the window of the laundry. He watched as they turned and walked away. They didn’t go far; their Ford Explorer was parked next door. Kenny could read the print through the back of the poster. It was for band called Gila Monster that was playing a concert in the desert at the end of the month. For a split second Kenny pictured himself and Alison, dancing beside a stage illuminated by a giant bonfire in the darkness of the desert. A voice from behind caught his attention. He turned to face an overweight woman folding clothes at a table in the back. “You want me to put that in the dryer when the cycle ends?” she asked.

“Ahh, no thanks.” Kenny answered. “I’m gonna take a walk and be right back.”

“Suit yourself, but don’t plan on leaving for too long. They’s others waitin’ on the machines,” she said, irritated.

“Don’t worry, I’m just running across the street,” he said. He glanced at all the empty machines, then pulled the electric bill out of his back pocket and held it up, waving it like a little flag. “Like I said, I’ll be right back.” And he pushed open the heavy door.

Outside on the street, the girls were still sitting in their truck. One of them reminded Kenny of his old girlfriend, Christine. He and Christine were together through high school and a few years after, and he’d been head over heels for her. She sang in the choir and had a voice like an angel, with the blond hair and looks to match. Eventually though, she broke his heart. After they broke up, he’d drive over to her place at night and sit for hours in the parking lot outside, just watching the lights in her window. Finally a neighbor caught him throwing tiny pieces of gravel from the driveway at the window, and threatened to call the cops. He was mortally embarrassed, with tears spilling down his face as he drove away, past the shiny black, Chevy pick-up that Christine’s new boyfriend, Chad Reynolds, had parked under the streetlamp out front. A blessing in disguise because he never went back after that.

Maybe it was Alison continually harassing him to be sociable, maybe it was the memory of Christine, but Kenny did something he rarely did, he walked over to the truck and struck up a conversation with the girls.

“Hey there. Which one of you is Gila and which is Monster?” Kenny said, nodding toward the poster. He wanted to be funny, but couldn’t come up with anything else. It didn’t matter; the girls were happy to talk and didn’t seem to notice.

“We both are!” They laughed, as the one behind the wheel, the one who looked like Christine, answered.

“You don’t look like monsters,” Kenny said with a smile.

“You should come to our show, at the desert festival,” Christine’s clone said as she turned around and grabbed a stack of posters from the back seat. “Tell your friends!” She handed him a small pile.

“Sounds good,” Kenny replied

“Pass those around if you get a chance.” The friend piped up. “This year’s festival is gonna be EPIC!”

“We gotta go, but seriously, come to the festival,” Christine said to Kenny as she started to back up and pull out.

“All right, sure, well… maybe see you there,” Kenny said, not knowing what else to say. He stood in the street as they pulled away, feeling invigorated by the interaction, and a little empty now that it was over. If nothing else, it was something he could throw back at Alison later if their conversation turned to Jerry for too long.

Kenny decided to pick up his laundry and then go get the car. He decided it was time to splurge, take Alison for a drink and Chinese. Somehow he was completely energized, and wanted to hold on to that feeling.

He got home and hung the laundry out to dry, a new routine to save some money. It was better than using the lint traps they called dryers at the Laundromat anyway. He quickly changed clothes and called Alison just as he was about to pull out.

“Hey it’s me. I am coming down to meet you after all.”

“Great, I’ll be here,” she said.

“I was thinking we should go for Chinese like you said, and maybe have a drink either before or after,” he offered.

“Whoa! What’s got into you?” Alison said jokingly. “I’m off at seven but it’s so slow I’m sure I can sneak out a little earlier.”

“I’ve got a couple things to do and then I’ll head over.”

Alison was in front of the café watering two small aloe plants from a plastic milk jug when Kenny pulled up.

“Hey, perfect timing,” she said happily. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

“Ok, but I’m starving, what do ya say we eat first and then go for a beer?” Kenny asked.

“Sure,” Alison said. “I need a decent meal; I eat way too many sweets working here.”

“All right, c’mon then, let’s go.” He waved her towards the car.

“One sec… let me grab my stuff and lock up.” She disappeared to the rear of the shop. When she walked back out she had a dish towel from the café covering the top of her canvas tote bag, which wouldn’t close and hung like a lead weight.

“What’s that?” Kenny asked as she slid into the car.

“Oh, it’s nothing, I’ll tell you at dinner,” she said.

The Chinese restaurant, Wok n’ Roll, was in a strip mall around the corner. Next door was Pearl’s Beauty Supply, Top Mobile, and the Shrimp Shack, but the rest of the storefronts were empty, their windows covered with For Lease signs. Kenny and Alison sat at the front and looked out on the parking lot and encroaching darkness. The phone never stopped ringing and a few other customers came in and carried out, but as diners, they had the place to themselves. It was Friday and there was more traffic than usual, mostly pick-ups and vans full of people heading out to the casinos.

They each ordered, and Kenny brought up the bag.

“So what’s under the towel?”

“Nothing, well, not exactly nothing.” She leaned forward. “It’s a handgun,” she said.

“Handgun?” Kenny was taken off guard. “What the fuck are you doing with a gun?”

“Shhh…calm down,” Alison said. “It’s for protection is all.”

“Right,” he said.

There was a momentary silence while Kenny processed his thoughts, then sat back, straightened up. “Sooooo… where’d you get it?” he asked. “And how long have you been ‘carrying’ protection?” he said sarcastically.

“I got if from Jerry a couple of weeks ago.” She replied matter of factly. “It’s no big deal, tons of people have em.”

“That’s not the point,” he said. There was a sinking in his chest, and it wasn’t because of the gun.

Kenny noticed the eyes and ears of the woman behind the counter, so they decided to leave the conversation for later, and finished their food in relative silence.

After dinner they drove down the road to The Pour House for a beer. The place was pleasant enough, the beer was always cold, they served peanuts in the shell and played decent music. Alison stopped by the front door to chat with a few people she must have met while working at the café. She weaved her way back to Kenny and sat down to take a sip of the beer that he had ordered for her. When she reached past him for the glass, he noticed a chunky turquoise bracelet on her wrist. A quick, sharp, pang of fear and sadness, overwhelmed him.

“Cheers!” Alison raised her glass to Kenny. She smiled, and in the yellow light of the bar her face was soft and glowing and happy.

Kenny’s face was burning and his heart pounding, hit by a rush of emotion.  All of a sudden he realized how sharply things had turned, how far out of hand they had gotten, and even worse, that it was his fault. And it wasn’t just the circumstances; it was his whole attitude, his whole being. For the first time in months he saw himself through Alison’s eyes and started to panic. He had moved them there and lost his job, that was true, but more importantly since then, he had been completely miserable and was making their lives miserable. He wasn’t trying to lift them up, it was the other way around, and now it seemed clear to him that that just wasn’t right. It was his job to help her through, and try to keep her happy. But now, suddenly he was too late; she was wearing that bracelet and had Jerry’s gun. She’d moved on without him because he wasn’t there for her. And he had practically invited it to happen.

“Cheers!” he finally answered ruefully as he clinked his glass against hers.

Alison could see he was troubled, so she just started talking. “Did you hear about that kid, Tommy Watts and his mother?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sad he got hurt.”

“Thankfully he’ll be ok,” she said, then haltingly added. “You won’t believe this but.” She stopped mid-sentence. She had a sheepish smile and looked down at her feet on the barstool rung.

“What?”

“Well, when I heard it… I thought about…” She hesitated. “Anyway I always wondered what it would be like to shoot something up like that, something where you’d see a reaction.” She finished the sentence quickly. “Not a person.” She laughed. “Like a gas tank or propane tank kind of thing, like in the paper.” There was a guilty look on her face as if she embarrassed, but at the same time Kenny saw a mischievous glint. “Remember how David Letterman used to throw stuff off buildings on his show…”

They finished their second round and Kenny asked if she wanted another.

“Let’s go for a drive,” Alison said.

He stood up, knocked back what was left in his glass, and they strode out of the bar into the heat of the night, stopping for a moment to stare up at the sky. There were always millions of stars and galaxies you could see in the desert sky at night. That was one thing that was never disappointing.

They climbed into the car and headed out into the blackness of the valley, cruising in silence with the windows open. A few miles down the road Kenny finally spoke. “I’m really sorry Alison.” He choked out the words, and could feel the tears starting to well up and then stream down his cheeks, like the ones he felt so long ago. And it struck him as ironic and sad that he couldn’t remember the last time he felt anything other than anger and frustration.

“No need to be sorry, we are gonna be just fine,” she said, then squeezed his hand and said “You don’t have to worry about Jerry.”

They kept cruising into the night, the moon was bright and everything else was a mystery, disappearing into the black hole of the desert.

“Pull off on one of the side roads when you can,” Alison said.

They stopped and she got out and marched over to a big boulder, the sandy grit crunching under her feet. In the white glare of the headlights, Kenny could see her clearly, with her heavy canvas bag, but had no idea what she was up to. She skipped back to the car, a little out of breath, smiling a big wide eyed smile. “Turn off the engine for a sec.”

Kenny cut the engine and got out. The moon illuminated three cylinders she had set up on the flat top of the boulder. Then she dug out the pistol and threw the bag on the ground.

“Who’s first, you or me?” she said, turning back towards him, smiling.

Surprised, Kenny stared at the cylinders for a moment biting his bottom lip, then looked at Alison. He smiled back, and said “That depends, who’s the better shot?”

“Let’s do it together!” she exclaimed.

They stood shoulder to shoulder in the night, holding the gun steady, like excited young teens. They braced and held the heavy pistol straight out between them and fired, hitting their target, a jumbo canister of whipping cream, from the cafe. There was a loud bang as the thing launched like a rocket, exploding in a mini fireball in the sky. They started laughing and couldn’t stop, until both were almost doubled over as they shot the two other cans. They couldn’t believe what they were doing, or maybe they couldn’t believe they were laughing so hard, it had been such a long time since they’d really laughed together. After the fireworks from the cans died out, Alison and Kenny stood leaning back against the car. “Things are not so bad Kenny.” Alison said simply. “But I do need to know you are here, with me. Otherwise, nothing’s worth anything.” A few giant drops of rain fell, a rare alert that a storm was coming, and the wind started to pick up as they climbed back into the car.

Driving home, Alison sat close to Kenny resting her head on his shoulder, until they could see the lights of Wonder Springs up ahead. “Were you thinking of having an affair, or already having one with Jerry?” Kenny asked, but before she could respond he said “Don’t answer that Alison. It’s my turn to do better, and I think if I don’t know, that just might help.”

 END BIO: Elizabeth is a writer and artist from Chicago.

[almost5q]

[almost5q]

#15, spring

ERIN DORNEY

BIO: "Tent-Pole Moments" is an erasure poem sourced from a media interview with actor Shia LaBeouf ("Shia LaBeouf" by Tasha Robinson, A.V. Club, April 2007). The poem was written during Erin's time as the Modern Writer in Residence at Modern Art. Click here to read more Shia LaBeouf erasure poems at Hobart. Click here to learn more about Erin.