Braden Wiley It was a humid Sunday night in late June and the muggy air settled on Carolyn Leland’s skin like a silk sheet. She stood at the head of the driveway stretching her hamstrings and studying the neighborhood of Westhill. The purple dusk was diffusing to black and the din of the suburb tapered, as if obeying the shifting sky. In front of her the Randolf house sat in stillness and a breeze startled the dogwoods fringing their...

Kristen O’Toole I came to Fiona’s because she lives in London, an ocean away from my fiancé. During the day, she takes me to the museums and galleries. Fiona helps art change hands for aliving.The nights are always cold and gray. Not even corners and alleys are ever truly black. Fiona touches my eyelids and asks me what I see behind them, but she won’t let me sleep in her bed. On the couch with a blanket, I ignore the phone and...

by Michael Andreoni

by Dmitri Gheorgheni

by Ryan McCarl

by Ryan McCarl