Shacking
            Up by Guy Hogan

            

              

                
 
 
                
Joe Morris came into the house
                  from work and said to Carol Jordan, "I just told old man
                  Schwartz today was my last day." He wore a black and gold
                  Steelers jersey, the number twelve with Bradshaw on the back.
                  The jersey was old and worn and Bradshaw had been retired many
                  years.
 
              
            

            
 

            
Hearts
            and Darts by Eddie Bruce

            

              

                
 
 
                
Placing his darts and cigarettes
                  in his windcheater pocket, Dod Kelman peeked in on the contented
                  face of his sleeping one-year-old son, his smile changing to
                  a grimace as the knitted cot blanket brought mother-in-law Elsie
                  to mind.
 
              
            

            
 

            
"Are
            There Any 'T's" by Bob
            Church

            

              

                
 
 
                

                  
"Dr. Abercrombie, wake up, sir…"

                  
Rutherford Whitbread Abercrombie, MD slept
                  at his desk, oblivious to her voice. The jungle heat and humidity
                  had once again overcome him, though it was barely mid-evening.
                  Nurse's Aide Bomidgie Hatamagunda lovingly slid her ham hock-like
                  hand under the doctor's face, lifting it from the desk, while
                  the other hand gently patted his cheek.
                
              
            

            
 

            
Fatal
            Flaws by Dan Beams

            

              

                
 
 
                
Some memories are better left
                  lying dormant. Although we wish to believe we're in complete
                  control of our mind, make no mistake, we are not. Occasionally
                  unsavory things bubble to the surface and demand to be dealt
                  with. One such memory from many summers past now begs to be recorded,
                  and so it shall be.
 
              
            

            
 

            
Fearful
            Symmetry by Budd E. Wilkins

            

              

                
 
 
                
The Berenson Clinic - set
                  with a jeweler's precision within a paradoxically treeless office
                  park just off the interstate - is one of those postmodern architectural
                  train wrecks, its façade a gallery of mirrored plate glass.