by Mohammadreza Fayaz The layover at Heathrow Airport felt interminable. Another lengthy flight to San Francisco awaited, and Ahmad’s back throbbed with discomfort. He strode past an array of quaint, colorful shops, their coffee aromas tantalizing his senses. The faces of the people around him bore a diversity he had never encountered before, marking a
by Maxim Matusevich Perched against a fluffy pile of IKEA pillows Nora watched the camels cross into her field of vision, framed by the glass panel of the balcony door. The room was bathed in an early evening quiet, the pale rays refracted off the ceramic floor tiles and played havoc with the otherwise stately
by Toby Tucker Hecht The admin aide who handed me the empty cardboard box said, “I’m sure you’ll find something soon, Julia. Much better than this job.” And then under her breath, “Sons of bitches!” I had only a few personal items, none with much sentimental meaning, but I tossed them in the box anyway
by Robert Pope Sometime in the year 1970, I received an invitation to interview for a teaching post in Rio Dell, a small Northern California town built on logging on the Eel River in Humboldt County. I had my best pants and shirt, a sports coat and tie laid out in the trunk and planned
by Charlie Fish “Good evening, Mr. Citrone, please sit down.” The man sat on the other side of the desk was dressed in a suit so sharp it could cut a diamond. This was Robin Murgatroyd – the Robin Murgatroyd – agitator, seer, demigod. He looked at me with such intensity, such authority, I don’t