998 Chapters
Medium 9781771870757


Forrie, Allan Thistledown Press ePub
The protagonist of “A Run on Hose” by Rona Altrows is a middle-aged woman who works in a lingerie shop. After her husband falls ill, she becomes fascinated with a regular customer who she nicknames Rosie due to the woman’s constantly flushed cheeks.
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Medium 9781771870689

Green Honda

McLellan, Don Thistledown Press ePub


ARCHIE SPOTTED THE SCANNER AT A SWAP meet. The hawker evidently concluded that he wasn’t an undercover cop, because he leaned across the pile of swag and said, “It’s your lucky day, buddy.”

Lila dismissed the scanner, about the size of Archie’s shoe, as “just another stupid toy.”

Once he got the hang of things, though, Archie was eavesdropping on firefighters and paramedics, on the banter of security guards, construction crews, and bicycle couriers. But the hawker had been right: the police frequency was best.

After dinner most nights, Lila’s fanny parked in front of the flat screen, he’d lie in bed, the lights out, listening to police working stakeouts and drug busts, in pursuit of robbery suspects and car thieves.

The action was unedited and often profane.

Atmospheric interference sometimes made dialogue unintelligible. But when the sky was clear and the night air crisp, his evenings were high drama. The ticketing of teen dragsters and the separation of feuding couples. The search for peeping Toms, cat burglars, and fugitives. Reality radio. Of course he couldn’t see the “perps,” as the police called them. It was like listening to one of those taped books for the sightless: you had to imagine the cast of characters.

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Medium 9781771870641

Needful Things

Hobsbawn-Smith, dee Thistledown Press ePub


WHEN THE SEWING MACHINE’S NEEDLE BROKE for the third time, Susan dug around in the bulky corduroy with her pliers, grumbling as she searched for the tip. Cutting down the jacket was proving more trouble than it was worth, but the young horsewoman who’d brought it to her had insisted. A gift from her brother, she said. And now Susan was late getting it done.

Each morning, Susan lay in bed and counted the flocked lilies on the wallpaper and considered the temperature of the linoleum. Wondered if she wanted coffee or tea. But she didn’t want anything, so each morning she stayed under the duvet. Counting wallpaper flowers. Even her appetite stayed dormant. Eventually, it was her body’s discomfort that drove her out of bed, not the urge to step into her day, not the tedious job of re-sizing a jacket.

What was it this jacket reminded her of? Nothing stayed with her for long these days. Not even her garden, where she and Peter had spent their summers. As his health had declined his energy slipped too, but he’d still loved mornings ensconced in a deck chair, watching her dig.

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Medium 9780253012098


S. A. An-sky Indiana University Press ePub

THE SMALL ROOM was filled with people. They sat on beds and benches, the floor, and in each other’s laps. A samovar was boiling on the table. They took turns drinking tea from the only two glasses they had. The guests, first one, then another, ran out for provisions: soon loaves of bread, sausage, even pastries began to appear on the table. Thick tobacco smoke hung in the room; lively conversation was taking place, and the sound of young laughter could be heard.

“Gentlemen, let’s read something!” cried Geverman.

“No, it would be better to sing!” Kapluner said, trying to outshout him.

“Read! Read Pisarev!” insisted Geverman.

But the public was not in a serious-enough mood for reading Pisarev. Protests arouse.

“No, Pisarev next time! Now we must sing something!”

The young man in a frock coat with long flaps who’d greedily reached for a Russian cigarette, without waiting for an invitation, began singing a popular Jewish song in a low voice:

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Medium 9780861967254

Chapter 20

Tony Grey John Libbey Publishing ePub

Meilin and Gan are in the family suite which has several rooms. Meilin is in hers, thinking about how she should approach her father, desperately worried that he’ll refuse and what she should do if he does. The sun is streaming through her small casement window lighting up the blue silk which covers the roughness of the mud brick walls. She paces up and down, treading heedlessly on the intricately designed silk rugs woven with the famous blind stitch. Each stitch, closely applied to give the surface its sheen, is so tiny that many of the weavers eventually lose their sight. She’s in two minds; should she go to see him now or wait. Maybe something will happen to put him in a particularly good mood. That’s procrastination. She must go now and face the consequences.

With a burst of determination she leaves the room and walks through the stone corridor up to the top of the southern tower where he has his office. It looks over a stand of poplars past the hot cobblestone quadrangle.

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