The Fireman I’ve been here for days. The lever, like the firm hand of someone’s father, clicks into place. I’ve been here for days, it seems, before the water starts to flow— a soft trickle, at first, a whisper of piss, basically, upon a symphony of flame. My watch face is not visible through the [...]

by Stella Robbins Two doors down, past the antique store but before the florist, in the watch repair and jewelry shop, sits a little lady on a velvet-covered chair, minding her manners, ready to flutter to her full height, her ninety pounds and beatific smile whenever a customer bings the bell. Otherwise, she sleeps, a [...]