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Tag: short fiction

A Grey November Afternoon

A Grey November Afternoon

The afternoon was grey in that penetrating, depressive sort of way that November afternoons in New Jersey can be, and if you’ve ever been in New Jersey on one of those November afternoons you know the kind of grey I’m talking about. Well, that’s the kind of grey that November afternoon was, and we were let out of school early that particular Friday since that night was our school’s Military Ball, the big social event of the year. You got…

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Dreamland

Dreamland

Dreamland. That’s what they call our state now. It’s a fitting name. I’m dictating this from my Dreamland cocoon. It’s a plastic shell, my home, and I never have to leave it. I’m not sure why I’d even want to. Everything I need or desire is here, or it comes to me here. I just have to say the words, and my electronic servant finds it, activates it, brings it, provides it, or has it procured and brought to me….

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Fear, Loathing, and a Panic Attack in the Tobacco Warehouse

Fear, Loathing, and a Panic Attack in the Tobacco Warehouse

This story is written as a stand-alone short story, but it may eventually wind up in the Growing Up New Jersey collection, a series of vignettes slouching their way into becoming a book. See more vignettes in this collection at the Short Stories &c. link above. We were getting around Kentucky, the Blue Grass State, that particular June. Coming from New Jersey, I had never been to Kentucky before. But my girlfriend back then, who we’ll call Anne mainly because…

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That’s Illegal, Isn’t It?

That’s Illegal, Isn’t It?

A short imaginary conversation. “That’s illegal, isn’t it?” she asked from across the little folding table. “Yeah, so? If I worried about everything that’s illegal I wouldn’t have any time left.” “Well, doesn’t the law exist to protect people?” “You’re kidding, right?” “No. I don’t think so. You mean it doesn’t?” “Hey, look, to the extent I obey the law I stay out of fucking trouble. But a bunch of laws are screwy, or way off the mark. And, no,…

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One Second

One Second

This story, like many in The Last Word collection, is based on a true incident. See more stories in this collection and others at the Short Stories &c. link above. (for Lindsay) One second. She stops to pick up her bag. Checks that it is closed. Slings the strap over her right shoulder. One second. “I’m going out. Would you like me to pick you up something?” She is thoughtful like that. One second. “Oh, lovely. Would you mind getting…

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