People the next street over were looking for trouble that involved weapons. Our street marched in with water bottles and a thirst for peace. With our good mornings and how are yous. We were all fancy invitations and photos by the shore, stamps with hearts. We were young and carefree, old and wobbly, but seriously cogent. What could they do? We’d already laughed our way through their fox holes, skirted their latrines, their muddy excuses for artillery, when their hoarse general, stiff and stern, marched over, threw down his rifle, and said, “Any of you peaceniks got a cough drop?”
stories have appeared in Defenestration Magazine, Misfit Magazine, Six Sentences, Star 82 Review, Tiny Molecules, and in the anthology Weatherings (FutureCycle Press, 2015), among others.
