“a few drops of peppermint oil.” By Sasha in the bath

Tuesday September 11, 2018
8:22pm
5 minutes
The Incense of Those Rooms
Jen Currin

We’re going to build a small house behind the house that I grew up in. A garden, five trees, a bird bath will separate the past from the present. Now it’s just drawings, and hoping, and scrounging, and working through feeling like hell. Now is making it happen for then. For them. For us, three years from now. It’s strange, isn’t it. How autumn brings nostalgia, heavy and ripe. We’re going to build something together, maybe a house, maybe several homes scattered across the coasts. East and West, sun and moon. God laughs at our plans. I hear it in my belly like butterfly wings, touching pinkies with you.

“in that beautiful mind” by Julia on her patio

Wednesday June 20, 2018
8:56pm
5 minutes
All Of Me
John Legend

I used to fantasize about making out with you. And kind of fucking you in the bathroom but never telling anyone about it. I have a feeling you would have preferred to be doing it than people thinking you were and I wouldn’t want anyone to know. Our bodies are too similar in size and maybe that’s part of why I like the idea of us and why there never was an us. I think you’d be good for the record, but you come off in groups like you don’t think you’d deserve it and be so afraid to just slap my ass or kiss me like you mean it. Maybe that’s what I told myself so I wouldn’t be tempted to flirt with you. You were an easy target in that way. Innocuous. Bug spray. I have thought about you seldom since because I’m not sure that I’m wrong. I want you to be bad. I guess that’s the fun of fantasies. You get to make a good one into a midnight mystery tour and be as bad as you think you are with someone who you believe would bend over backwards to sleep with you. Maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe you’d say no if I cornered you in the bathroom. I don’t think I’m wrong. But. I guess we’ll never know for sure.

“and then he came down the stairs” by Sasha at her desk


Tuesday April 25, 2017
8:07pm
5 minutes
Overheard in the kitchen

“And then he came down the stairs and he said, ‘Steph, I have finally solved the mystery.’ I mean, I’d just gotten home, I had no clue there even was a mystery! Turns out, he’d been following Mrs. Drumville for the whole week and some real fishy stuff was going on. She was sending money to Mr. Drumville, even though they supposedly weren’t even speaking, and, she was stealing bouncy balls from the castle at the fair! Steve saw her! He even called her out on it but she completely denied it, saying that she’d gone to the Buck or Two and bought balls of her own! I mean, come on!”

“The healthiest things” by Julia at Gertrude Park


Friday July 25, 2014
11:09am
5 minutes
Food Rules
Michael Pollan


Darlin’ I’m slippin’. I’ve been feelin’ off these days, you know? Can’t help myself from makin’ tiny trips to the garage. I hid all kinds of bottles in there, cause you know your mother, she was always all over me for bein’ thirsty. One, you know, I don’t know how I did it, but I found it way up on the top shelf there right by the trophies. Almost fell right off, I had to climb so high. And I brought that one down, and it took me a minute, but by the time I got my footin’ I noticed it was actually empty. Why I was keepin’ an empty bottle so out of reach is beyond me, but that’s the problem. If I don’t even remember why I was hidin’ certain things, then maybe I also have more than I thought. More bottles on top shelves. More uncovered memories I at some point in my life tried very hard to bury. But guess what the truth is. I haven’t once had a sip yet. I’ve been starin’ at those bottles but that doesn’t mean I’ve been hittin’ them. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to though..

“Allow the process to unfold” by Sasha on her couch


Tuesday, December 4, 2012
11:12pm
5 minutes
Pisces Horoscope, from 24h
Monday December 3, 2012


The morning started as I’d expected – alarm, roll over, pee, put on the kettle, etc., etc. Then there was a knock at the door. It struck me as strange, given that I have a prominent doorbell. The choice to knock. Hm. A tall man in a bright blue coat, fedora and checkered scarf meets me at the door. I’m in my robe and slippers. He looks strangely familiar and yet so unknown in his dapper wardrobe and shiny eyes. “Mrs. Allen?” He says… “Mrs. Allen is my mother!” I shout. He smiles. “Mrs. Allen, may I come in?” The man has the faint lilt of an Irish accent. I look down at my garb and almost say “No” but then remember my manners and open the door. He makes himself at home without me encouraging him to. “Mrs. Allen -” “Miss,” I say, “Miss Allen…” “Miss Allen, I’m here to discuss the unfortunate circumstances surrounding the death of Edgar Ballentine – ” “Who did you say you are?” I suddenly feel overwhelmed by my lack of socks and the kettle whistling hysterically on the stove.