Fiction of the Day
The House with the Mezzanine
By Dan Bevacqua
I was supposed to middle-man these people into a situation of potential annoyance—if not harassment? Me? The poor kid from Jersey?
I was supposed to middle-man these people into a situation of potential annoyance—if not harassment? Me? The poor kid from Jersey?
I am Oberleutnant Heini Opitz of Test-Commando 16 and this is not a war story. It's the story of a lunatic revolution-the inmates with Bedlam's keys-and the boys all call me Pitz. We fly (fly? ride!) the Messerschmitt
We stop in a place called Smith’s in Paso Robles and order turkey-gumbo soup and lemon-meringue pie with black coffee. This ensemble somehow fits together although it sounds as though
Every day, in the intense Arizona sunlight, the cars streamed by along the highway, crossing the desert towards California, and the old lady sat in a rocking-chair on the cement porch of the tourist cabin and counted them.
Theoretically we love the forced communions of urban life. Practically we avoid them.
The first time Avram went over the bar everywhere he looked emerald Pacific Ocean was working, except for the sky-firm above all that motion and the cast of blue he imagined one would see on a television
It is very cold outside, though less so inside the car, it seems, with the kufiyya lying across the dashboard, forming a coiled snake ready to strike.
And so it goes, God created the heavens and the earth.
Subject is a freak. Subject investigates own reflection: Long hair—check. Funky beard—check. Headband—check. Body odor—check.
A foolish trip up to a dark. Midlands town, the pelting cold rain soaking into the black brick of the factories like old bad oil, glistening nothing. A wasted trip, through the good offices of the local M.P. Town fathers showed me everything and showed me nothing.
Bea walks into the classroom wearing the clothes she had on the day before. The Teacher understands that this is going to be a bad day. Bea’s hair is uncombed, face unwashed. She arrives precisely twelve seconds late. Not so late that the Teacher has to make a big deal about it. But not on time. Bea walks like a prisoner forcibly escorted, snatching herself along, step by step, then pouring her thin body into the seat. She has no books, no pencil or paper. She drapes herself over the desk and waits for the Teacher to continue or challenge.