Boyfriend Disclaimer

by Molly Williams

May inflict serious emotional pain on those whom he loves, thus causing general turmoil and tears when there is no need for it. May sabotage your first date by drinking more than he knows he should, and then getting on top of the bar and doing a sloppy rendition of “Signed, Sealed, Delivered.” Is almost ensured to say things that make him sound like a jerk when in the company of important people, e.g. minor celebrities, rich friends and your parents. Will definitely go through deep, intense “moody” phases that he consistently fails at explaining. Loves to pretend he’s A$AP Rocky in the shower — you will probably want to tear out your eardrums after the first few nights of this, but we’ll let you work that out. May also, under extreme conditions, bring love and happiness into your life — but this is a rare occurrence, and should be met with great alarm.


Molly Williams loves green tea ice cream and photographing, writing about and laughing at life.


This Ride Doesn't Compare

by Bree Katz

It wasn't even the first time a girl started crying on me during sex. I asked what was wrong. She said she really she missed... her. I sighed and went to go finish in the bathroom. She called me an insensitive jerk and curled into a fetal position. I might have been more concerned if I hadn't known she was talking about her car.


Bree Katz recently received an M.S. in linguistics from Georgetown University and currently teaches English as a second language to unsuspecting adults. She writes when she's not busy plumbing the depths of the Internet.



by Lauren Risberg

She stood before him draped in an elegant marble dress, unmoving folds suspended from the child's frame mid-flutter, each pearly crease meticulously carved and polished. He tightened his sweaty grip on the artist's chisel, paralyzed in the gaze of her unshapely head. Maybe it was the skulls he heard rolling like glass marbles in his sculptor's toolbox, maybe it was the silent putrid corpse that lurked between unpainted canvases in his storage closet, maybe it was the scattered pallid gravel crunching like chalky bones beneath his shoes, but his hand felt like lead at the thought of disturbing her intricate marble coffin. The unfinished statue had no mouth, no face, no eyes, and she breathed so easily the same grit-dusted air that stung his lungs when he inhaled. He feared if he carved her face, she might bleed. He dropped his chisel and fled the studio, his hands immaculately clean.


Lauren Risberg is left-handed and wishes her handwriting were better.


The Ring

by Shannon Peil

He was six foot three and crying and my hand was on his knee and her face was turned away. She had tears running down to her chin and couldn't stop saying she was sorry, but I felt nothing. He put the ring back into his pocket and her eyes sunk to the floor and she put her hand in mine as he got up to leave. He didn't even slam the door. We didn't see him again and I remember thinking it was interesting how fast a friendship could dissolve but I forgot all about it soon, lost in her lips and fingers and hips and thighs. Later that night she told me she had cried over how she had made him feel, not that she had made the wrong choice - and I fell asleep in her arms and felt no shame.


Shannon Peil gets published sometimes, rejected others, and thinks that's fine.


I'm Afraid of Bears

by Jonas Winslo

The airport in Anchorage has a large collection of stuffed animals, not gift shop stuffies, grotesque taxidermical nightmares. Every animal is rendered in full blood-thirsty attack mode. Lunging badgers, snarling wolves, elk impending impalement. The Bear stands twelve feet tall with a roaring world-record head and massive paws that could smash a bison’s skull (according to the plaque). I realize now that this factoid is a cold calculation of force and bone density. As a child, I assumed someone witnessed a frenzied buffalocide on the prairie.


Jonas Winslo crafts in the Pacific Northwest. He is dexterous, almost uncomfortably tall and can recognize every breed of dog except some of those new poodle mixes.


Now That You're Here

by Jennifer Tatroe

Did you know that the olive green jacket you had, the one with the black stripe down the side, is the most popular coat in all of Seattle? Or that a hundred feet in this city wear those same ratty deck shoes I despised on you? Today, in the market, I chased after a grey hat bobbing in the crowd in front of me, after a tawny-haired ghost, after a prickle on the back of my neck. Since you left, my life has become an endless series of double-takes. Now you’re laughing. You got a new jacket.


Jennifer Tatroe loves Elvis, hates olives, and is currently ambivalent about pirates.