Read and view the work of artists from Previous Issues.
I liked the work; I was good at it. But the company, Cory, getting demoted…I hated this place and the bastards who ran it. But I couldn’t leave. Not with my seven-year-old daughter, Tina, just starting private school. Tina and her mom, Tanya, had me deathly afraid of getting made redundant, for redundancy here meant redundancy there.
It was not uncommon to see complete families piled onto a single motorcycle on the streets of Haiti and not a helmet on anyone. Necessity always trumped safety. Roberson himself had suffered several broken bones and broad patches of road rash when his motorcycle clipped the bumper of a tap-tap taxi several years earlier. Dr. Dean had helped pay for the medical expenses to make sure the bones were set correctly and prevent any long-term disability.
“You know I have cancer,” Dr. Dean said, “but I’m not prepared to die today.”
She glanced at the ornate wall clock Doug picked up from Home Goods. Heather told him it was ugly, yet here it was. Nothing else they owned in the house matched. The clock’s lacquered finish glinted in the afternoon sun. Lacy and Ryan would get off the bus soon. Heather turned off the laptop and collected her papers. She placed the computer into a kitchen drawer with other paper miscellany. Secure, but not secret.
