Category: the Center

The Beds of Trucks

As Jimmy turns onto Highway 9, I hear the roll of the can and the ping ping of metal against metal as it comes to rest in the corner. I look back through the sliding window. “What’s that?” I ask. “WD-40,” he says, eyes straight ahead, not even glancing...

Trade Off

Randy punched me in the mouth when we were ten. He said it was an accident; I thought it had something to do with my baseball card collection and not loaning him my Willie Mays. My upper lip swelled on the right side and the inside was slightly cut...

Writer’s Block

Richard sat down at his desk for the fourth time that day and stared at the blinking cursor, counting them.  He tried a couple of different things: batting his eyelashes in time with the blinks, holding his breath for twelve, thirteen, even fourteen blinks.  He tapped his index finger...