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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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Adam Blakeney sat on a barstool in Murphy’s Tavern on Jefferson Street in Detroit. As he drank the last of his Irish coffee, he lit a cigarette. The blue smoke wafted in the bar fan. He heard the honking horns of the traffic outside. He heard a siren wail. Whether it was a police car, fire engine, or ambulance, he didn’t know and didn’t care. “Hey, Murph,” he said, pointing to his cup. “Refuel, please.” “Sure, Father,” said the portly man. He brought Adam another drink. “Thanks. And don’t call me Father.” Murphy leaned on the counter, propping his chin in his hands, elbows on the bar and stared at Adam. “What’s wrong, Father? Bad day at McDonald’s?” Adam still wore his green McDonald’s uniform and reeked of grease, onions, and pickles.  “No. Don’t you have other customers to tend to?” Murphy looked over his right shoulder, then his left.…