It has happened again. — Alright, everybody. Who was it this time? I mean, seriously. This absolutely has to stop. You know it walks the line of inconsiderate. At the bare minimum, it’s not exactly helping with our collective productivity. Some might even call it downright offensive. I know Harriet does. Sorry for naming names…

The 34th in a series of short stories about a relationship starring a fictional couple who live rent-free in Scott’s head. — “Do you remember our first date?” she asks during another date, the number of which I have absolutely no clue. We’ve gone on many in a year’s time — though not as many as many newish couples do, as I have a slight aversion to leaving the house and often…

Well, pretty much anything other than a meeting. — This meeting could have been an email. Or a Slack message. This meeting could have been a swift kick in the dick. This meeting could have been a spiritual journey where we all learned something very special about one another. An opportunity to experience some real warmth and growth. This…

Flash fiction. — This dude has — and has had, for quite some time — some very strange rituals, if you want to call them that. Every morning when he makes his bed he tucks his stuffed animals in, which is my gentle way of letting you know that a 35-year-old still sleeps…

Flash fiction. — “What exactly are we doing here?” I ask the group, but nobody specific. I guess maybe I’m also asking myself — though I will say I eagerly accepted the invitation, even if it went against the morning ritual I hold so dear, which is basically to stay in bed for…

Prose Poetry. — If you come close enough, really lean in, you might still be able to see it. Or feel it. And if you ask me I’ll give a bit of it to you, but only now in a faint way where you might question just how real it is. Like the…

Prose Poetry. — Last night the abyss finally kicked me out, after all these years. It had gotten weary of the hours I’d spend in the dark all alone, honing the haunting gaze I’m not sure can be replicated by anyone. I suppose any entity can get tired of incessant stare-downs that last…

Flash Fiction. — “You know I’m not going to sleep with you, right?” she says as she walks around my apartment in small circles, scrutinizing, giving herself the grand tour. She doesn’t wait for me to respond before she asks if I’d like to know why. It’d be weird to say no, so…

Life can be a pretty interesting time. — Your parents will, by way of a digital cloud-syncing snafu, end up with access to your Google Chrome search history on their iPad. …