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Volume 2 Number 1

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Welcome to the first issue of our second year, published on Monday, February 7, 2000. We hope you enjoy browsing through our fiction, creative nonfiction, and poetry!

Fiction

The President, He Slept Here
by Charlie Dickinson
Blue sky above, the whitest snow--plum blossoms--bedded a stretch of Klickitat Street. A solitary man, Pliny, cane in hand, companion radio to his ear, suggested a college wrestler from the lighter weight classes--his spine arched forward--warily making his way. But really, Pliny was vintage. Two years ago in 1997, he had topped, as they say, the century mark.

Chucky Ley
by Chris Kassel
What do you do with a life? Given one, beyond the odds. Consider the goldfish in the hotel lobby, swimming endless, monotonous circuits inside a glass tank. Can't even sleep, that goldfish. What's the deal with fish not being able to sleep? Does God hate goldfish? No sex, no booze, no Superbowl (maybe the one it gets flushed down); it's a wonder God even lets them die. Call this a life? Around and around he goes, that little goldfish, the worst delirium nightmare imaginable, endless geometrical deja vu; even a rat trapped inside a maze has purpose--a clear, if futile impetus, that is--to escape. But to the goldfish, there's no escape; incessant, delirious orbit is reality in all its potential savor.

Hallowed Ground
by Kevin Watson
I'd say I know this town better than anyone, like a doctor knows a neurotic patient. I know its pulse, every nervous tic, each little ache and pain. It's my business to know this town; my profession is real estate.

I grew up here in Morgan Grove, raised my family here, buried my oldest son here. I've sold and resold close to half the homes that make up this village of fifteen hundred. Morgan Grove is a nice town with nice people. Some of us are a bit eccentric, but we're nice folks, just the same.

Poetry

Tribe of Frogs
by John S. Bowman, Jr.
Though guest of honor
I could speak only a few words
of my host's language.
Ignorance can be a lonely thing
at dinner. So many spoke
and I understood so little,
spoke less. Outside
as the sun went down
frogs began to sing.

The Meeting
by Philip Hyams
Like the old/this dented city with its
Bald cracked byways.

A picture window partially misted over by
The cold/a child's face all rosy and
Puffy gazes out at me.
I am old/I am eaten
I am convinced/I am bought
I sold out with maturity!

Settling for Stone
by Philip Hyams
Settling for stone
For stone to hold us safe and warm
When the elements are unfriendly

Donny Does E-mail
by John Rothfork

Note: You should start with the first five poems.

E-poem: twenty-five
ese vato
whadup dawg?
(caption: what is up dog?)
got that hard drive crankin’?
thought I’d stroll to the store
boost a can of html spray to
chrome over the homey page
comes in those fancy Euro liters & grams

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