Table of Contents
Editor's Notes
Submission Guidelines

Stories & Essays
A Day In the Life
By Sida Li
Eight Minutes
_ By Michael Gettings
_ By Max Gordon
One September Morning
_ By Brian G. Ross
_ By Len Joy
Reading Between the Lines
_ By Michael Gettings
Scarring Truth
_ By M.W. Hamel
Snapshots of the Ordinary
_ By Monica Lee
_ By Robert Connal
_ By Daliso Chaponda
The Jury
_ By Jeremy Tavares
The Thief
_ By Marva Dasef
The Train to Pennsylvania
_ By C.L. Atkins

735 Miles to Nootka Island
_ By Nicholas D. Klacsanzky
Al Fresco Cafe Poems #125
_ By Duane Locke
Al Fresco Cafe Poems #127
_ By Duane Locke
_ By Lynn Strongin
Gilded Candy
_ By Mina Blue
Marriage 2
_ By Christine Redman-Waldeyer
Memo to Italy
_ By Andrew Francis
Rain, Your Words, and the Agony...
_ By Betina Evancha
_ By Juliette Capra
_ By Christine Redman-Waldeyer
The Unspoken Eloquence of the Sword
_ By Anne Nialcom
Three Shades of Grey
_ By Monica Lee
We Pay
_ By Betina Evancha
White Dread
_ By David Snyder
_ By Betina Evancha

Art & Photography
Keira Anderson
_ Photography
Anne-Julie Aubry
_ Paintings
Whitney Clegg
_ Photography and Drawings
Eman Reharno Jeman
_ Photography, Graffiti, and Drawings
Mike Pomery
_ Paintings
Jennifer Robbins-Mullin
_ Photography
Madia Krisnadi Widodo
_ Photography
Penny Wilson
_ Mixed Media and Digital Art

By Len Joy

“Nicole,” my Dad asked me, cradling his beloved dictionary, “if patrimony is what your father leaves you, then what is matrimony?” Weird. He was so uncool he was almost cool.

Like he’d go to every soccer game I ever played and no matter how we did, I mean I could have played like crap, and he’d say, “That was a powerful kick in the first half,” or, “You attacked the goal with a rapacious single-mindedness that was startling.”

His dorky expressions were bad enough, but then he came up with the pound thing. “Stupendous game Nicole. Pound.” And he’d hold out his fist like a Brother. I told him no possible way—never ever. After every game he’d try. He kept telling me that one day I’d come around.

Then he got sick and he couldn’t go to my games anymore. I’d come home and tell him how we did and he’d say, “Most impressive, Nicole. Pound.” But I knew he didn’t want me to. Not like that.

He had to go back to the hospital. On my last visit he was propped up in his bed studying his dictionary. “Did you know there are eight definitions for ‘love’ in Webster’s Unabridged?” He shook his head. “None of them work.”

He sat back into his mountain of pillows and let go of the dictionary. He turned away from me and I thought he might be asleep, but then he sat up. His eyes were red as he held up his trembling bony fist. “Pound.”

I didn’t want to because I knew if I didn’t, he couldn’t give up. But...

“Pound Dad.”



LEN JOY lives in Evanston, Illinois with his wife and three children. For fifteen years Joy owned and operated an automobile engine remanufacturing company in Phoenix.