Recyclables

by Eric Williams “I probably should make a pilgrimage,” I answered. “He’s reckoned the best poet here.” “Best poet in Aznar Station?” Röntgen laughed and drained his coffee. “Well, I can arrange that too.”  We strolled to the already bustling Plaza de los Pájaros. A long line had formed for the Axial. The cylindrical station…

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Spelling Test

by Sarah Sturgiss. It’s summer and we’re playing soccer with a red rubber ball in the front when Max starts to do the thing he does when I’ve scored more goals than him. It’s the same frustrated look he’d get when he was a baby; his smile shrinks into a squinched-up line, and he pushes his breath out of his nose.

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