Serenity
Bad Guts
by Lowell Mick White
Wes Leonard sat at the bar, leaning back a bit and looking out through the dark, tinted, bulletproof glass of the door. Outside, a street crew was pouring asphalt into a hole. There were three Mexicans and a black man on the crew, and they were sweaty and dirty, and they looked tired. They looked hot: even through the thick glass of the door Leonard could see the air boiling and shimmering, shimmering and boiling, not just from the heat of the asphalt but from the very heat of the sun itself. Leonard watched the workers for a long time. Maybe there was a story there. But maybe not. It was sometimes hard to tell. Read more.
Young Guns
by Ian Healy
Sometimes a car chase is just like in the movies. This one was more like the ones you see on Police Camera Action specials. In other words, there wasn't a lot of tight cornering and screeching skids. Mostly we were just barreling along the road in a straight line, occasionally swerving onto the shoulder to avoid slower traffic. Only the hills made it slightly less than routine, if there is such a thing. Read more.
Constance and the Genius
I had to interview this playwright who was a celebrated genius and a notorious lech. I insisted on being allowed to take along my secret weapon, The Advance's staff photographer, Gerri Stanley. The thing about Gerri was that she was very attractive--heck, even I could tell that she was so hot she practically left scorch marks on the floor where she had stood--and I hoped that this would serve to draw Danny McBride?'s attention away from my big-butted self. Read more.
The Barcelona Moonlight Express, Part III
by Deirdre Abrahamsson
Stella stepped away to the bathroom. There were two girls in line in front of her, speaking French. She smiled at them, and they ignored her. Fuck that. She was having a good time, and stuck-up French girls weren't going to ruin her evening. Read more.