Coffee Stains
Mar 10th, 2010 | By Len Kuntz | Category: Short StoriesI wonder who’s a racist and which of these might have been the one to chuck that trash can through the storefront window.
I wonder who’s a racist and which of these might have been the one to chuck that trash can through the storefront window.
They went because they couldn’t say no to him. He was a terrifying figure, one that nobody wanted to anger.
Nightmare startled Isaac awake. If he turned, confusing dream with reality, he would see Emma’s bloodied head on the pillow.
“Come on, keep this line moving,” said the man dressed in Khaki and wearing a sidearm.
My mother always had the best luck. She is humble and will never admit it but it’s true.
Before I knew what was going on, at twelve years of age, I saw what was going on… with Putney Grimes, who owned the Pioneer Grocery and General Store near my house, and one of his customers, Maxine Greenery.
John Howard leaned on the dugout railing and looked out at the ball field. It was magnificent.
“I would hold a gun against the head of my boss and make him cry. If I could go back and do it all again, that’s what I’d do.”
I saw it all, from the very beginning, heard it all, too, every word rising on the air … in our first classroom, in church, everywhere it happened, you name the place and I was there.
Jackson McClure sat on his sofa in the den and watched the start of the fire.