Nonfiction – Issue 7

My husband can’t keep a steady job, so instead I grow inordinately fond of his ambient sound collages. Since he will not, I eventually try to sell them on his behalf . . .

It is around 10 p.m., our usual bedtime, but we both know that we will be up at midnight, and then again at 5 a.m. . .

Blue glint on the train track’s steel rail, half-demolished building, sunset over an alfalfa field. Every single thing a brilliance. The skin of the world I am hungry for . . .