April - 2017

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A-J ARONSTEIN

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Petulant. Frustrated that he has to wear the hat. Or maybe they told him to cross his arms, and though he had wanted to wear the hat, he did not want to sit still with his arms crossed and wait for the shutters to click. Sitting on something reflective that looks like the top of a piano. Maybe marble? His parents took him for a piece of candy afterward. He held his mother's hand. Abbott went down to Gramatan Avenue a week later to pick up the prints of his sulking boy from Ma

Plots

Plots

1. In 2003, Ryan Banks entered the University of the Plains, where he studied Sociology under a distinguished professor and decided to stay for a Master's degree. After completion of the degree, uncertain about pursuing his doctorate, he remained employed with the university in an administrative capacity. After a few years, he was permitted to teach undergraduate writing courses and in the ensuing decades rose to an administrative rank of Associate Provost for Programs and Sp

Some of the Things You Worry You Might Miss About Chicago Once You Leave

Some of the Things You Worry You Might Miss About Chicago Once You Leave

Here are some of the things you worry you might miss about Chicago once you leave for New York: Splashing around in blue slosh of Lake Michigan off of Promontory Point, the warm-in-the-belly feeling of descending toward the yellow-orange grid of streetlights on final approach into O’Hare, cherry Italian Ice from Miko’s, the screech of the Blue Line, the windy emptiness of Milwaukee Avenue on a below-zero January night, frozen beards, staring philosophically at winter’s last s

Bike

Bike

I am connected to three machines. The machines are in my ear. They are strapped to my feet. They are not taking me anywhere. If I grab the handles on my sides, my heart machine will start thumping into this bike machine. My pulse will display. I love my machines. Their pulsing, twitching fulminations. Their inflations and deflations. Their electric tingles. I love feeling them enter standby mode. And fueling them up. And expending them. I even love it when they hurt. Any inde

On the Bay

On the Bay

What was that idiot doing? The water calm, the breeze dead still, but he was standing in the boat like that -- precariously, that is -- paddling right up to where the thick grass grew out of the water. This was ten years ago, I guess. I'd gone walking down by the bay to see what there was to see. Hot day. Janet had gotten upset with me after dinner, so I took a walk out there to think. They had just started putting up cottages in Homestead Park, the land that used to belong t

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