The cabinets clash with the countertops. Matching mahogany-stained floorboards and cupboards accentuate black granite countertops and backsplash tiles. The intention: a dark, bold appearance. The result: the kitchen looks like a giant Hershey bar. 

Yoshi hated being old.  Her joints and the rest of her body were stiff and sore with age.  She slept a lot, so at times it wasn’t too bad, except when she woke and had to rise after many hours.  It was difficult to get her legs to cooperate.  She’d slip on the hardwood floor or even on the ramp to the back yard.

She’d posed for Giorgio a few times, but that was before his Dolce & Gabbana phase, before he’d gelled his black hair into a thick screw, fastened at the nape of his neck by a clear elastic. Today, his neon green and black, geometric-print shirt—unbuttoned one, or maybe two buttons too many—was tucked, haphazardly, into his fitted leather pants, secured with a grossly-oversized belt buckle blasting the logo of his brand du jour. 

I was just sitting on the patio watching the bats fly around when her car pulled up.  I didn’t know it was her at first, which was a bit of a gift.  Another few peaceful moments enjoying the serene chirps as the bats blindly circled.  A faint glow still hung in the sky, but she had her headlights on.  I noticed the vague illumination through the thin bamboo fence bordering the patio. 

He wakes up to the sound of rocks hitting his window – scarcely more than pebbles, not enough to do damage, but enough to wake him up. Sure, Dylan’s a light sleeper, but it’s still a ridiculous maneuver and that can only mean one thing. Harper McLeod, childhood best friend and platonic soulmate, is back in action and needs an accomplice.

A man in a spherical red bodysuit perched across the street from the art museum. Binoculars pressed rings into his eye sockets. Six stories below, a white van disgorged black-clad passengers. The blue flame of a blowtorch illuminated a ground level door. The round red man’s chest jutted out.  A cape fluttered behind him as he cut a silhouette against the full moon. He punched a number on his cell phone.