Hours ago, on the Puerta del Sol, I was considering dinner, guidebook in hand, when a woman with a wild frizz of hair made a conjuror’s flourish—and set a basket full of scarves aflame. The fabric shriveled quickly, giving off ugly smoke. An enraged vendor chased her through the crowd, and I heard, behind me, a stranger call my name.

A woman, smiling slightly, all in blue. Hair cut quite short. Hadn't we met on the bus to Matadero Madrid? No, the museum: in front of that big Velázquez of women weaving.

She’d just eaten an apple, and still tasted of it when we kissed: fresh and crisp, with a slight flavor of salt. (Jalilla? Was that her name?) We walked on, talking; paused near a high black gate, its padlock carelessly painted red, and kissed again, more slowly. I liked her smell, the feel of her short, soft hair, the crepe of her shirt. The buckle of her belt pressed into my stomach, printing unseen designs into my skin.


Estación Origen MADRID


"Estación Origen MADRID" is in the Winter 2018 issue of n+1.

Read the story online, or get the print issue.


“Oh, I’ve been molded into action figures,” the actress told the interviewer.





"Insurance" (no paywall!) appeared in the Online Only section of the n+1 website.

Read the story online.




Headlights swept over trees. I caught Alicia staring at me, her head a little to one side: she didn't look away. Instead, she got this irritating look of satisfaction, as if she'd let me in on a big secret in perfect safety, because it was something I would never understand.

"Didn't you take the left fork last time?" Mom asked.

Tall, shadowy, with weeds and bushes growing out of it, the ancient arch passed over us.

Dad didn't reply, which meant he was either angry or super frustrated. I'd been chewing so quietly that the last thing Alicia expected to emerge from my lips was a pink bubble the size of a grapefruit. I let it deflate and wrinkle back into my mouth. Even the gum tasted sulfury.

Then there we were, back on the ancient pavement, gliding through the arch again, wondering how many more times we'd see it tonight before we could collapse into our beds. (Or whichever bed we planned to sleep in, anyway.)


Inversion of Marcia


"Inversion of Marcia" is in the Winter 2017 issue of n+1.

Read the story online, or
order the print issue.


Wind dropped off. I waded through a drift, unsure how shallow or deep my next step would be. It might be a dream, this cold, this silence, this emptiness posted with trees. I stopped before I knew what I’d heard: there. The soft squeak of fresh snow being walked on.


Curtain of Frost

  "Curtain of Frost" first appeared in Epiphany.  


The summer I was killed we all went down to the lake.


A Cluster of Sunsets


"A Cluster of Sunsets" first appeared in Southwest Review.


"Since when were MALE and FEMALE among the four cardinal directions? He gave a low whistle. Since now. His instinct was to stay on the main road, but the road was about to split irrevocably. Right? Left?"





Nightmaze, an exerpt from the novel INCIDENTS OF TRAVEL, appeared in BOMB.

(Flash 7+ required.)


...I remember dreaming of a carousel that was also a ski lift, then awakening to a wild sound of rain.


An Incredibly Heavy Rain


  This story will be posted after publication.  


(Will let you know!)



This story will be posted after publication.



Quite soon, I hope!


More fiction on the way.



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