Fiction – Issue 7

I’m the first to emerge from the pink ice, though it was supposed to happen at the same time . . .

The children, not knowing there was anything wrong with snow in July, got out their galoshes. On their sleds they screamed down Murder Hill, as they called it . . .

Her name was Casey Krupke and she was a 24-year-old waitress at Roy’s. The air conditioning at her house in Canoga Park had gone out . . .