Picks of the Month

The café in the village square was once a well-known haunt of agitators who, in my youth, scribbled polemics on the backs of menus. They were mopped...

The cursor blinks steadily, beating out non-human time without mercy. I break its gaze to look out of the grimy first-floor window. Above the parade...

Mother in a mantilla rubs her spit dampened handkerchief across a child’s face, not clean enough for God, who lives inside and judges us all. She...

This is from a series of prose vignettes I've written, all of which tie into one story. All entries from the series are semi-biographical, this one in particular reflecting a real situation and based on real people, one of whom was me and the other, a prostitute named Molly. It's rather long but I couldn't split it appropriately so bravo and thank you if you make it to the end!