it didn't kill brain cells

"Now I had customers up the [caboose]. Bosses, too. Welcome to Hustle-for-a-buck, USA. In the near term, the [redacted] at the six-top was screaming for refills like he intended to spray his hose all over his mother-in-law after Friday brunch. He pulled a "Sir, please" the first two times, and then shifted to no voice or eye contact with a triple spoon clink against his water glass after that. Fucking annoying, yeah, but all I had to do was hustle to the table and refill the cup. It was work. Straightforward. My first job of the day, and it didn't kill brain cells I needed for my next gig."

~~ from "A Day's Worth" by Alex Kudera

terminal since May

"People buy things because they're depressed. They have free time. If they're employed, they're lost at work. All they got left is death and Internet, cable TV or kids if they're lucky. Jim across the street croaked last month. An aunt in Pennsauken has been terminal since May. There's something soothing about paying monthlies to know it's all taken care of. Older folks are depressed, and they don't want or need any more things in their homes. A monthly reminder they are a good person who cares about others—family or friends they'll be leaving behind. That's what they want. And, if they pay more, they assume they'll be getting more."

~~ from "A Day's Worth" by Alex Kudera

A Day's Worth

The new issue of Eclectica Magazine includes "A Day's Worth" by Alex Kudera.

attending to my paces

"I did not have so much, but I was intact. I had a ceiling fan and an unremarkable kitchen. I paid rent on time and was aware of the possibility that I’d earned what I had. I had helped a child through college and a year of graduate training, a newer normal, and I didn’t like sharing my walking space with undesirables who had never supported the arts with a paid museum membership. Inhaling the foul odors of the unhoused—or even those climate zealots using God-knows-what to seal themselves to the Monet, Klimt, or Klee—would never be for me. No, sir.

"And so, I came to recognize that I would no longer be striding through the museum on searing hot days. Climbing the great marble stairs would be for someone else, not for me. I would have to find another way of avoiding skin cancer while attending to my paces."

an original novel

"Back at my studio and seeking punishment, I set to pricking my arms with a paperclip. But that wasn’t enough, so I picked up the next thing I could find; it happened to be my first novel. I began slamming it against the side of my head—again and again—but that was no good either. Years ago, I had been an aspiring man of the people, and I’d talked the publisher out of hardcover, so that we’d put into print a book that the masses could afford—but now this beneficence was interfering with my progress. Against my skull, I slammed an original novel unable to leave any lasting damage."

"Going to Hell"

Thank you, Soyos Books, for publishing new short fiction.

not the best I could do

"He was assessing me now. Was I using too many paper products? Yes. Did I really need a full shower when a washcloth rinse would do? I supposed not. Walk whenever possible; drive only if you must. Of course. Avoid elevators; take the stairs. From now on, I would. Change would be good for me. Moving more would be good for me. Stationary bike or lap lane? Sure. Finishing this cheeseburger and cola was not the best I could do, and ordering a hot fudge sundae would work against my interests."

squalid, cozy, overpriced, plain

"Overseas, again, yes. I know. I admit it, I’ve seen my share of international airports. I’ve blended in with tourists and businessmen. I played 'the normie'—one of them. Airports offer an oversupply of oversized Americans, middle-age men and women who, impossibly, fit into economy passenger seats. In Asia, I’ve seen the long lines of foreign students eager to embrace America . . .

"You may be asking, 'Was he ever at home?'

"Certainly so; I lived at home—my share of studios, efficiencies, and junior one-bedrooms, my mother’s apartment, a friend’s couch. Various arrangements—squalid, cozy, overpriced, plain. I knew Murphy beds and futons thrown on the floor; minifridges without a freezer; electric-range only, no full-sized oven or no oven; and metal fire escapes, stored in a painted box, to be thrown out the window ahead of me. I’ve worked in several sections of America, and I’ve seen entire towns of people poorer than me. Obese and depressed; wobbling through Walmarts. I’ve lived among them."

"My Apology" by Sam Lipsyte

"The events themselves—the words, the acts, the intent—are a blur, a frantic smear. A certain phrase, once quite common and, by my lights, benign, was uttered, I admit, by me. Its lesser-known and brutal associations, to which I was not privy at the time, choked the office like a poison gas.

"Currents of history pushed this gas, herded it, prevented it from dissipating or exiting through vents. My history seeped into that of the offended party, which collided with the history we’d all been taught in school, as well as the revision of that history we knowing people knew, as well as the revision of that revised history, which had recently gusted in with the force of a reckoning.

"Also, it should be noted with appropriate candor that after I uttered the aforementioned phrase and suffered an onslaught of verbal abuse from my co-workers—no doubt unmooring me from my usual sense of decorum—I did, in fact, in plain view of all, urinate on my offended colleague’s desk."

~~ from "My Apology" by Sam Lipsyte

Asian American literature

 Consider two recent lists on Asian American experience: here and here.

Bombing From Above

"In my actions, I was opposite this sentient cadre of uber-citizens successfully navigating a fast-paced American city. If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere, and so on. No, I was a crazed lunatic, a fringe adjunct who’d flown halfway around the world to scold others in foul weather. Do something! My God! Thank goodness I had the decency to leave that scene. I’m certain that the young woman was alive. I pray that she recovered. Hopefully, there was no permanent paralysis."

~~ from "Bombing From Above" by Alex Kudera

Awash in Barach and Bolano

I'm very thankful that Editor-in-Chief Christopher DeGroot published "Awash in Barach and Bolano" as part of The Agonist's Summer 2019 issue.

Free Car

Thanks to Heavy Feather Review, "Free Car" is available anywhere short stories are read online!

Mike Leone's first book

Word on the street is that the writer Michael Leone's first collection, The Real Natasha, arrives from Braddock Avenue Books in September and is available for preorder. I grabbed a copy as soon as I heard the news.

Model Minority

Mimi Wong's "Model Minority" is now available as a free read at Crab Orchard Review. Once the pdf of the full journal issue loads, scroll down to page 135. 

Teaser:

When war broke out in China, Sanie’s grandparents were forced to flee the province of Hunan. Gong Gong, as Sanie was to have called her mother’s father, came from a well-to-do family. Po Po had worked at a bank—a rare accomplishment for a woman back then and a sign of good education. They would not be able to carry their wealth with them as they ran, and so they buried their gold in hopes of recovering it one day when they could safely return home. They also bid goodbye to the other members of their families, assuring each other they would be reunited in the future. They died without ever setting foot in China again.

editing "Turquoise Truck" for Mendicant Bookworks

I received detailed edits for "Turquoise Truck," a car-lot e-single set to arrive from Mendicant Bookworks this summer, and I hope to return them soon.