Latest Stories
The Tuesday Shift
Maria counted the quarters again. Forty-seven dollars in the till, same as an hour ago. The fluorescent lights hummed above her, one tube flickering near the back row of dryers. She'd mentioned it to Carl, the owner, three weeks running...
The Tuesday Thursday Saturday Woman
The heat in Phoenix that September was like a living thing, pressing down on the cracked asphalt and climbing up through the floorboards of Miguel Sandoval's ten-year-old Camry...
The Night Shift
The moth died against the window at 1:23 AM. Marcus Okonkwo watched its brown wings flutter frantically against the glass, drawn by the fluorescent lights of the security station, before it dropped to the windowsill with a barely audible tick...
The Weight of Small Packages
The notification came like all the others—a soft ping, a gentle vibration against her hip...
The Azure Heights Deception
The evening rain had just begun to fall when Rajesh Mehta arrived at Azure Heights, balancing three bags of steaming biryani against his motorcycle helmet...
What We Carried
The automatic doors wheezed open and Esperanza pushed her cart into the fluorescent glare of the SaveMart. She needed garbage bags, bleach, rubber gloves. The kinds of things you buy when someone dies and leaves you a house full of their life...