by M. S. Allen
I’m negative and Lloyd is untested.
This took three dates to establish. I don’t count meeting cute on Second Avenue while I was buying the Sunday Times and he was walking his dog and then going to his place to fuck and exchanging numbers but not names — that I don’t count as [...]

by Richard Mandrachio
1
CHAOS:
The swells and eddies of this river tug at me, draw me to destinations of which I have no knowledge. My power seems infinite once I arrive but for the moment I’m helpless, a victim of the flows, a piece of flotsam in the currents of what? A spatial anomaly? [...]

by Kevin Langson
As I stood waiting in the lobby to be interviewed for a job I knew I wouldn’t be offered, it occurred to me that life would be so much more pleasant if my heart was more like my hair. In my anxiety, I contemplated the fact that my bangs will lay to [...]

by Bill York
Koki was perfect: beautiful, gentle, controlled, mysterious. Everything I loved about Japan lived in that one word: Koki. In the rain, I was walking back to my own hotel in the Shinjuku district of Tokyo. With a delicate, definite “No,” Koki had escaped to the room I was not allowed to enter, [...]

His laughter, so fraught with memory, wrapped around me
and made flight impossible. Cuba, part temptress and part prankster, was
working its dark magic again.

by Bren Gosling
Roland slipped from the main drag of the Avinguda Diagonal into a doorway so that he might have privacy.  The street throng had begun to flow thickly again, as Barcelona emerged from its Saturday siesta. No doubt many were heading to the nearby Corte Ingles department store that looked like [...]

by Dath Goldman

The sun slowly rises. I had to walk out from the bushes. Today was a good start, too good. In the back of my mind I wondered, “what could fuck this up?” Thought about international flight, that would be the best way to escape. I had to stop thinking this. [...]

For weeks he’s been saying we’re losing the intimacy thing. What’s it look like I’d say? If it’s a thing, what’s its shape, its color, its size? Where’d we leave it, I’d ask, egging him on, imagining something warm to the touch, soft like velvet, bordello red and sticky with Velcro; too large to misplace in a drawer or closet; too obvious of value to throw out by mistake with the trash.

A letter about a sweater left by an ex-lover tells you something about the relationship.