Starting Monday March 16th, we suspended all in-person class meetings in our NYC offices, now extended through at least September 1st. All classes will meet online. If you have any questions, please email [email protected]
We are also offering a 20% tuition break for any student who has lost work due to the COVID-19 outbreak. Please email [email protected] for more information.
“Hello, [a mispronounced version of your name], pleased to meet you.”
The Green Man dreams that one day he will throw away the flag and depart for home in a bug-free rocket ship. But not before the children grow up, walk instead of fly.
They like flirting with local women. When they’re satisfied with the season, they catch a plane and go back to gringolandia.
The bubbly letters were both a direction and a justification for the lines of people who shelled out $37.50 for a forty-five-minute “experience” at “the sweetest place on earth.”
Why can’t we imagine, just for the sake of argument, that a joyful spirit leaves some of themselves behind—an echo of joy in a place they once loved?
Her son’s name was Bison and, wouldn’t you know, she’d enjoyed calling him “Son” for short.
What is dramatic about wanting to protect ten kids from the bullshit of the world? Just ten. That’s all I want.
Her family had no wings, only legs that could traverse blocks at street level, where no one was allowed since the Sickness.
Somewhere far away, someone made a call, someone in power said yes to violence, and our friends would never get to see our friends say yes to love.
The girl, a matchmaker, asked to see Shlomo’s hand. Reaching from her coat pocket, she pressed a tarot card-sized photo into his palm.
He always smelled like fabric softener exhaust from the laundromat down our block: like blue bottles of Downy and Saturday nights, when Mami would blow dry my hair straight with dollops of Dippity-Doo.
Some just want a lick of fame, prostrate at my feet with their sweaty headshots as if I am the one to save them, as if they are worth saving.
What does a melon dream about as it bathes in tendrils of rainwater, wishing to be invisible?
It was That Smell, that-so-familiar-one that hurt me not to remember where I’d smelled it before.
It’s the heartbeat that I can’t forget. When the sonogram technician held her transducer to my abdomen and turned up the sound I was surprised by its rapidity.
It was here that Dad told me the story. I didn’t know where the story had come from, or how long he’d carried it inside him.
She, too, often felt she would die if she went without physical contact. She worried sometimes that this meant she was becoming one of them.
April says the people at church don’t talk to us because they’re motherfuckers.
She updates the simple bio on her dating profile: “looking for nothing serious. I am really into knives. Really, really into knives, ask me about it.”
Maybe it wasn’t that Angie wanted to break things off with Kate; she just didn’t know enough to decide if she wanted to keep going.
What kind of story would you like to write?
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