America's Most Critical Journal since 1999
Goodnight Mold By Casey Alexander Ben was partway through his morning pigeon salute. It was an inhospitable morning; he stood on the balcony with an umbrella, waiting for one to appear. Thus far, his call had gone unanswered. Of course, they were under no obli... More »
Loved, Solvent, Alive Casey Alexander A hostile-looking woman flickered onto the screen. As the established employee, Erin enjoyed the privilege of drabness: she’d thrown a cardigan over her nightgown. Anne, on the other hand, was corporate glam to the waist... More »
by Casey Alexander There was no reason to reopen the door to the office–they’d made it clear that John wasn’t needed inside–but some instinct made him try anyway. The handle fell a quarter of an inch beneath the force of his wrist, then clicked... More »
by Casey Alexander In between Aztec push-ups, Jim heard the delightful sound of cardboard falling onto his doorstep. He waited in the gym for ten minutes, allowing extra time in case the courier tripped or stopped to admire his tulips. Opening the front door, ... More »
By Casey Alexander Day 1 Lately I’ve become wayward; there’s a layer of grime on my soul. A lack of progress, a certain stagnation. An unsettling realization: I have ceased to be my own hero. Plus I have a three-day weekend coming up and no particular plan... More »
by Casey Alexander It was the bugle that turned my head. Its manly, imposing tones, and the majestic figure that held it. His traditional silk caftan; the silver birds in his hair. The documentary detailed his training, followed him through making up and his e... More »
By Casey Alexander The tour guide marched them into the gift shop for the third time in an hour. Pen and pencil sets, car covers, and inflatable wading pools bore the logo of The College of Alfred and Larry. Ashley’s father bought her a thermos; she wondered... More »
Sunday lunch selected, seven fifty presented, a golden grilled cheese changes hands. I seize the shallow wood basket and make my way to our table. Ours─my friend’s and my own, no one else’s, with an agreeable view of the street. Katherine and I take our ... More »