In Goo (~3,000 words)
He checked himself out one last time in the mirror, adjusting his collar and rubbing his freshly shaven chin, and then walked out of the apartment. Summer was starting, and although the day was still quite early, the morning dew was already vanishing into the atmosphere. He slipped on some sunglasses and breathed in the pleasant scent of gasoline and garbage.
A sharply-dressed man escapes his monotonous life for an impromptu walk through Hancock Park, where he encounters the La Brea Tar Pits and a precocious six-year-old who asks questions he can't quite answer. A meditation on being stuck, being alone, and the small moments that remind us we're alive.
Drumstick Nub (~2,500 words)
He had been waiting for the bus to arrive when it happened. There was no blood, no pain, and no one to witness it. It had simply fallen off. One moment it was there, attached to the end of his arm, just like always, and the next it was on the ground, beside some withered leaves and bits of litter. A few seconds later, a city worker had swept it right into his bin. He had earbuds in and was whistling something out of tune.
A man's hand falls off without warning while waiting for the bus. As he attempts to navigate his life with this inexplicable loss, the story follows the cascading consequences of a single surreal event. A darkly absurdist exploration of how we lose ourselves, piece by piece.
Omakase Sushi Bar (~6,000 words)
It felt like I was being sucked into a big, black hole. A total, absolute nothingness that gradually crept over my body, enveloping me like a cold fog. Little by little, I was becoming a part of it. Or, maybe it was becoming part of me. Maybe I was fading away altogether. Either way, I felt myself losing my place in the world, there, deep beneath the ground. I could hardly even hear my heart thump anymore.
A night in Chicago when the power goes out and a bartender descends into the restaurant's basement to find the circuit breaker. What begins as a routine task becomes a surreal journey into an impossible space. Told years later to his cousin over coffee in California, the story explores the fear of being trapped, the unreliability of memory, and the thin line between the real and the unreal.
Parachute, Parachute (~4,000 words)
I hadn't dreamt in a long time. In fact, I couldn't remember the last dream I had. I knew I used to have dreams—at least, periodically, as a girlfriend of mine had once told me that I murmur in my sleep.
Years after a breakup, a man discovers his ex-girlfriend's dream journal—and finds a record of words he spoke while sleeping. A story about the things we fail to say while awake, the complacency that quietly erodes love, and how we learn what we've lost only after it's gone.
Can 'uh Beans (~2,000 words)
It was sweltering. The kind of day where, if you put your head close to the ground, you could see little ripples and waves rising in the air above the pavement. Where you could get a second-degree burn from leaning against a car left in the sun.
William lives under the I-10 freeway with his shopping cart and moves slowly through a Los Angeles that barely registers his existence. On a brutally hot day, he navigates his small world while a stranger's song about beans drifts through the air. A story of invisibility and survival, told with compassion and unflinching clarity.