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Refugees in a Banana Republic
Literary

Refugees in a Banana Republic

Early dawn, when fog hung…

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A Day with Breanne Mc Ivor
Interview

A Day with Breanne Mc Ivor

Meet Breanne Mc Ivor. She…

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Nocturnal Conductions
Humor

Nocturnal Conductions

The first time it happened,…

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The Lady of the Water
Fiction

The Lady of the Water

I’d thought Central America would…

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Never Will I Leave Home
Literary

Never Will I Leave Home

You have not seen our…

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Two Blind Men
Flash Fiction

Two Blind Men

They knew well I was…

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An Interview with Ernest Brawley
Interview

An Interview with Ernest Brawley

Ernest Brawley, a native Californian,…

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Only in Holywood do people pull open a few drawers, stuff crumpled clothes into a suitcase, and slam out the front door. In Jackson Heights, it was day two. Carla’s face showed she hadn’t slept on either of them. Without makeup and straggling unbrushed hair, she looked so much older than her thirty-six years. Adam searched for his shaver charger, a green project file for an upcoming presentation, and the photographs of his parents’ anniversary trip. And, all the while, Carla followed him into each room, pleading with him to stay. She knew he was choking up when she resorted to mentioning their daughter Jessie. It was callous, but she was desperate. If making him feel guilty was her only remaining weapon, she was going to use it. She begged him. ‘Please, Adam, insist they do the tests again.’ Afraid to look at her, he carried on putting papers into…