Years of Greyhound buses on gravel road turned this village into moonscape, churned up the dust, painted everything a thick coat of gray, houses, trees, dogs, people, a grayscale triptych, life-size and monochrome. They shake their second skin off in the doorway or carry it inside, let it form a trail behind them, rinse it … Continue reading
Tag Archives: Hailey Malone
I Die Stage Left — Hailey Malone
I die performing as Juliet in front of a sold-out crowd on opening night. As the blunt dagger touches my chest I suffer an aneurysm. My brain fills with blood, drowning my synapses and washing away my lines in sets of two to my lungs– Let me die! Let me die! I die stage left … Continue reading
The Orange Era — Hailey Malone
Once upon a time there were orange trees in Kansas, fruit sun-colored and juicy and perfectly round, so round that, as the rumor goes, Sandy Koufax once struck out seven in a row with a Kansas orange. Seven up and seven down, sinkers, splitters, the orange was dancing over the plate that day. The Orange … Continue reading
The Homecoming — Hailey Malone
The homecoming is coming. The prodigal daughter is returning. The youngest daughter. She’s leaving Allston, that south Boston bar complex of a neighborhood where she lives on the third floor of that sagging, crumbling red brick burrow two feet from the T, the noisy teetering late T that stops at red lights and wakes her … Continue reading
Midtowners — Hailey Malone
“Fuck” is etched into the outside wall of the video store. Molly Silver traces her index finger through the “fuck” and goes into work. “You’re late,” says Ellen, long in the tooth, toothed in gaps. “No I’m not.” Ellen looks at the clock, “Yeah, I guess you’re not.” “It says ‘fuck’ on the wall, you … Continue reading
