Category: Short Fiction
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He plotted a path across the highway. As he slowly walked, the rushing machines went right through him as if he wasn’t even there.
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I told him I wanted to go to Juarez. He asked why. I told him I wanted to submerge myself in the various arts of indecency. He asked why. I thought about it, and I couldn’t tell him why.
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The ghost of Wilford Brimley rode upon an ocelot across the dry-skinned floor of the salt flats out beyond the perimeter of Brigham City, Utah, where he lived in a holy water and whitewashed adobe abode.
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+ Brigham City, Halloween, Oatmeal, Ocelot, October, Quakers, Salt Flats, Short Fiction, Utah, Wilford Brimley+
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“But Mr. LaBrush. I was simply making a statement about the love for all people and accepting Christine for who she is via the spirit of a shirtless Dave Gahan.”
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+ Bus, Bus Station, Depeche Mode, Digestion, Irish, Minnesota, Short Fiction, Swedish Meatballs, Writing+
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It was a morbid Monday at the Fist Gallery in Mankato, Minnesota as Bob Weir’s acid ghost was mumbling the lyrics to Black Throated Wind as he lazily strummed a toy guitar in the corner and the manager polished antique glass doorknobs with a clean, white cloth.
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+ Amsterdam, Art Gallery, Batman, Bob Weir, Comics, Mankato, Minnesota, Portfolio, Puppets, Transgender+
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CEREAL AFTER SEX 