His Last Nine Words by W.A. Smith

We’re in the black Dodge with red leather-looking seats and push-button drive.  No stick or three-on-the-tree.  We’ve always had a pretty cool, modern car, that’s one thing I can say.  But I think I’d rather have a stick or three-on-the-tree.  Since he...

Background by W. A. Smith

My dad and grandfather are together by the pond. The place is so big I can sneak up on anyone, stealing from an azalea bush over to the magnolia tree to gather a few of the hand grenades it manufactures, in case of enemy attack. Light and shade are everywhere. With...

Lunch With the Indians by W. A. Smith

By W. A. Smith Foster is drawing a picture of a very tall lavender man in a cowboy hat. Deeper lavender trees grow near the man, barely reach his waist. Foster chooses an equally deep green for the giant’s hands, and without raising his eyes from his creation he...

The Birdbath by W.A. Smith

by W.A. Smith “What bothers the hell out of me, like nothing else, is when I start singing a song’in the shower or something, or while I’m getting dressed’and you start singing it too.” The man paused and shifted the gun to his left hand...

Crows Feet (page 3) by W.A. Smith

By the time the joint is half-gone, Taylor is a believer. It is killer weed. He recalls his rookie year when the sergeant lit some in a training class so they could smell it ‘ all the jokes, eyeballs rolling, dope-crazed pinko/hippie perpetrators listening to...