Short Story

On any given evening during the quintessential 1950s, shakers and movers of a very unsquare world could be found gathered at cocktail parties in sleek suburbia homes, ultra swank bachelor's pads, or mirrored lounge/living combos in "Anywhere, USA". While the libations flowed, those edgy revelers were trying out their well rehearsed and choreographed, goo goo eyed social moves on one another, intent on making an impression. Other party goers were working the room, culling for a new client or perhaps clinching a huge business deal the company execs had awaited for months.

“I just tried a little Twitter experiment,” Seinfeld said. His appearance, at Gotham Comedy Club, had so far been kept secret, but just before leaving home, he’d announced the gig online on a whim. “They’ve only got a half-hour to get there, so I’m not expecting a flash mob,” he said. Gotham was an opportunity for Seinfeld to audition brand-new material and fine-tune older bits in a relatively low-stakes context. In two days, he would perform for nearly 3,000 people at Manhattan’s Beacon Theater, and that show loomed large. It would be Seinfeld’s first performance in New York City since 1998, not counting impromptu club appearances and the odd private event, and it would kick off a citywide tour, with performances in each of the other boroughs. Born in Brooklyn, educated in Queens and famous for a fictional Manhattan apartment, Seinfeld called the tour “a valentine,” but he was, on one level, ambivalent about it. “ ‘The Hometown Hero Returns’ is not my narrative of being a stand-up,” he said. “For me, it’s the hotel. It’s ‘I Don’t Belong Here.’ It’s ‘The Stranger Rides Into Town.’ That’s the proper form of this

FRANK SINATRA, holding a glass of bourbon in one hand and a cigarette in the other, stood in a dark corner of the bar between two attractive but fading blondes who sat waiting for him to say something. But he said nothing; he had been silent during much of the evening, except now in this private club in Beverly Hills he seemed even more distant, staring out through the smoke and semidarkness into a large room beyond the bar where dozens of young couples sat huddled around small tables or twisted in the center of the floor to the clamorous clang of folk-rock music blaring from the stereo. The two blondes knew, as did Sinatra's four male friends who stood nearby, that it was a bad idea to force conversation upon him when he was in this mood of

and saw her mom and sister, in their own bikinis. Smiling, she placed a handful of sun screen on her legs and rubbed it in, she continued up to her chest, neck, and face. Offering her sister, the bottle. Taking off her bikini top, she laid face forward, so her sister could place some lotion on her back, and places where she could not reach.

I envisioned us meeting every weekend to have discussions about his intriguing life, a life that little if anything would get found about in any of the world’s newspapers. My Grandpa was one of America’s many unsung heroes, a man who fought in defense of the freedoms and liberties granted to people who are fortunate enough to live in the greatest nation ever to exist. His likeness never graced the front cover of a magazine, nor did he ever appear on television or in any blockbuster motion pictures. Still, he was cooler in my estimation than any of the biggest names I could think of who had enjoyed, or were enjoying, the media spotlight’s prominence. He was a ‘star’ I could reach out and touch, someone who enjoyed a modicum of privacy and didn’t have to worry about paparazzi monitoring his every

"Order for table two. Hurry up, Malina." The chef laughed as I wobbled over to him.

Mother kisses the top of Clem's head and calls for Dad to bring her school. He sets his newspaper down and gets up. He walks over to me and kisses me on the forehead and grabs my hand, giving it a firm squeeze. This is an odd gesture to me seeing as affection is not necessarily allowed in our city. Apparently it is a form of self-indulgence, which is frowned upon in Rauhallinen.

If. If this, if that. If not for that, I'd have had it in the bag. "I'd have won if he didn't topdeck raigeki." Ramram in the grave and a whiptail in hand and you choose to summon drident with your chakanine. If he didn't have raigeki though! Yeah I guess your double drident wins if he didn't have raigeki but he had no board wipes in his grave and you go for it anyway. "If he didn't have honest!" as you sit there with dimensional prison in hand. Yeah, good on ya. If.

Rudy had a lot to learn about reading. Meredith half listened to his voice at the back of the crowd as she swiped left, left, left. She'd heard him read it so many times she had it memorized. He should be toning it down though. People wanted to co-create the emotional experience.

You concluded that you were asleep. Everything around you was pitch black and you were in a trace-like state.

It was Saturday morning and I had just woke up. I received an email from the coach that coaches one of the best teams. I could not believe what I had just seen. On the email it wrote “Dear Victoria, I had watched you play in a few games, and I think you would be a good addition to my team. Would you want to come to practice tonight?” I thought to myself, I am not good enough, so maybe I should not go. But as the day went on, I actually thought that I should go just for the experience.

He continued to talk with no expression on his face, “She was my everything. No one understood me like her. When everyone turned their backs on me, she was there.”

Black, all he could see, among the ever encroaching darkness of night. Numb, all he could feel as scenes of death unfolded around him. “Go through first!” He shouted to his men, as they scrambled blindly toward cover. The screams of his men mingled with the sounds of the firefight created a cacophony that seemed like it would never end. The second wave of gunfire would soon ensue, leaching the land of life in one foul swoop. Despite this, he felt calm, knowing it would all end soon, and he would finally be taken to gates of heaven and accepted into god's loving embrace. He understood that he was young, but the war had seemingly aged him decades. No one would truly understand him, and he didn’t want them to understand, for that would mean

My cousins and I walk towards the man, giving him our baggage; beads of sweat dripping down my forehead, back, and armpits. “Oh no, I hope he doesn’t notice what I’m trying to smuggle in,” I thought as I lent him my backpack occupied by tons of vibrant, floral towels. He slowly opened my backpack, like a snail, zipper after zipper. I felt my skin starting to wrinkle, my back starting ache, and the sudden need to tinkle. Finally, he handed me my backpack; I rapidly strolled away from the guy as I just committed a felony; I brought in food from the outside. My cousins all believed that I over exaggerated the situation which enraged me because none of them obliged when I asked if they wanted to “transport the package,” which was ironic

The empty void of nonexistence was full of nothing, home to nobody, and as interesting as nowhere. Currently, however, these were all things of the past in this timeless place, as two old men that now inhabited it were currently bickering; as old men tend to do. One was a man of science whom sat on top of a large machine, covered in exposed wires and flashing lights, that was about the size of a tool shed. The other, a bizarre man to say the least, stood down below at a table that was an organized mess of old tomes, scrolls, and many exotic items used for arcane creations. They went about their odd business with disdain for one another, ever so often pausing to continue their pointless argument. As the bearded man down at the old table