There's No Day But This Day

by Glen Binger

I am from the ocean and the sand. Where I'm from, you take deep salty breaths which prickle the hairs of your nose with a specific low-tide aroma. It's a place where people pride themselves on their ability to have fun. Each town, side by side, creating its own simple year-round relaxation and celebration. Where I'm from, stress is a waste of time. You're born, you enjoy life, you die.


Glen Binger's work has been featured in the2ndhand, Opium, monkeybicycle, and Venture.


A Very Tender Thing

by Kendra Grant Malone

Julia tried to wake her lover at noon so as to go into the city to get cupcakes in the East Village for breakfast. She felt a wave of shame for her selfishness when he began to rouse and subsequently failed, filled with tenderness, and instead sat on his fire escape smoking a cigarette and tonguing the gap between her front teeth. Julia watched her lover sleep from the window across his small apartment, with her legs spread wide over the window sill, and admired his beautiful mouth. Full of soft tongue and very sharp teeth, his mouth rested closed and pursed. Julia thought about what happened the previous night. It is a very tender thing to allow someone to ejaculate into your face Julia thought as she moved her thumb back and fourth across her lips.


Kendra Grant Malone lives in New York with her temporary life partner, Nicole. She prefers Brooklyn to Manhattan, but not by very much.



by Alejandra Ramos

On an impulse, she bought a bottle of Orange-Orange Vitamin Water at the 7-Eleven last night and drank it. She felt closer to him for a moment while she swallowed, making up for those times she'd refused for reasons that never really existed. "Water sans vitamins," she'd said while she stretched out on his moonlit bed waiting for him to come back from the kitchen cool-skinned with clinking glass in hand. She grips the bottle and gulps quickly now, attempting to fill the gaps with the only piece of him currently within reach, but as she nears the plastic bottom she understands: two dollars and fifty cents of citrus-flavored water on a convenience store shelf just won't cut it. This, she notes, is one of those times when the sum of the parts will never, ever equal the whole. She misses the whole.


Alejandra Ramos lives in New York City, where she is a magazine editor, writer, and consummate daydreamer. 



by Janet Dale

Not minding the stares or smudges, she’s going to fill a notebook with your name, written with twelve different pens. The black ink will swirl up to create your ‘A’ and trail back down moving into your ‘L’. She will write until her left hand performs the same sequence of letters perfectly – next she’s going to repeat the cycle in a different notebook with twelve more pens, but with her right hand instead. Suddenly she will stop and consider placing your last name behind her first. But her eyes will pop open as she remembers -- I don’t believe in things like love or marriage. Still every time she writes your name, she hopes you think of her just the same.


Janet Dale holds a B.A. in English (Creative Writing) from the University of Memphis. 


Alien Wisdom

by Jason Davis

"I eat rocks" was the first thing that the alien said. Later, over limestone and shale, it told us that it didn't know what we meant by "love," and when we explained the term, it replied off-handedly that the whole thing seemed contrived and put upon, an affectation that did no one any good. It said the same thing about God. It told us that it was only being honest, and, whale-sized bone-plated jaws crunching away, whistling its speech through what I can only guess was a nose, it said that we, as a species, were just lying to ourselves, brainwashing each other to believe that there was some bigger meaning hovering over us in the dark. We asked it, hands in our pockets, what then, was the point, what was the meaning of existence, the real reason for getting up in the morning, for breathing, for living, for talking to it right now, if not a hope for something transcendent. It sat there for a while, apparently mulling things over, a spray of eyes the color of rusting iron peering without focus from the stalk on the top of its head, and then it said "I eat rocks."


Jason Davis currently lives on the Tibetan plateau, where he spends his days studying the habits and behaviors of small nonmigratory birds.


To All Strangers

by Alex Green

I feel most me when I am asleep. Synapses recapture those dreams I traded in for greener pastures. The road I am on puts food in mouth, but no sunshine in soul. So as the sun rises another day, I am sad to awake. Not of anger for growing old. But towards the stranger who quieted my soul.


Alex Green is a liberal, a conservative, a realist, and a dream-deferring, self-described-in-a-box-aholic, who loves apathy, sensationalism and marginalization.