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“Young Man With a Moustache” - Onomatopoeia Magazine, Summer 2010
    ‘He became, for all of us, a hero after that—not in the way that Captain America was our hero, but how Tom Thumb or those fat twins on little motorcycles would have been our heroes had they lived in our town. We followed his movements closely, reporting on what we’d seen him do or say in class. One of us (I swear it wasn’t me) even made a half-assed attempt to grow a moustache—he hid the early stages of it by covering the lower half of his face with his hand when he sat down, even when he talked, so that whatever he said was unintelligible. We made him pull the hand away and saw the thin patches of incoming hair. We convinced him to shave it before he made a fool of himself. We knew that even if he grew it for weeks, for months, it would never achieve the majesty of the young man’s. From what we saw, and I’ll admit it was still in the early stages, this moustache looked like a stringy affair, not something you’d want to imprint on a coin. Besides, we could only have one young man with a moustache...’ (Read more...)
   ‘I could almost hear the screech of metal contracting as his grips on the wrench and tire gauge loosened, finger by finger. Then his shoulders went down, dropping into their natural places, and the skin of his face relaxed. Looking down at me, his nostrils wide, he said “There was a time in my life when all I wanted to do was make love to a woman. That’s all I wanted to do.” He loped back into the garage, and I realized why he rubbed his hands all the time. They weren’t any dirtier than ours. He just held on to his tools too hard.’ (Read more...)
“R. O. E.” - The Fine Line Issue 2, Winter 2010
   'When the song came to its natural end the instruments stopped like they’d started, all at once, as if the noise they’d made earlier had vanished in a flash into the void whence it came. I held the tambourine still in my hand, fearing some unintentional shifting of its metal jangles would adulterate the toneless hum of the amplifiers. A few seconds later, the singer began to nod his head. He turned around to me, still nodding, and the rest of the band nodded too, looking at me. From their slow nodding and expressionless eyes, I understood two things at once: 1) I was in the band, and 2) everyone in Sketches for Mercury was stoned out of their minds. I’d been around potheads long enough to know how chronic smoking can wash out one’s personality. (Read more...)
“Sketches for Mercury” - Diagonal Proof Issue 1, February 2011
     ‘Only Danvers knew why he had to stand upright twenty-four hours a day, every day.
Had they located a thread of rationality in Danvers’s behavior, everyone acquainted with him might have conjectured as to why he never sat, nor lay down. But his situation went beyond explanation, and most people took his stance as a matter of bizarre fact. Danvers would stand while working on his laptop computer set on the tall file cabinet in his bedroom. He’d stand while he ate dinner, his wife and children trying to include him in the conversation despite his hovering over their heads with his plate in his hand. He even stood as he slept.’(Read more...)
“Danvers Is Dreaming” - Arch Literary Journal Issue 4, May 2011