by Lunchbox Editor | Apr 23, 2023 | Fiction
She approached the boardwalk parking lot slowly; the drops from the windshield wipers cast a shadowy mix of blues, reds, and yellows across the leather seats. Abby felt a gloomy solace in her car, while the rain thrummed overhead. The years had transformed her. While...
by Lunchbox Editor | Apr 19, 2023 | Fiction
Out of nowhere, I felt like moving and and now I am on a walk. I have earbuds in, but I don’t hear anything. I don’t want to listen to music, or to Michael Silverblatt on NPR, or to the wind navigating the trees or the trains carrying bodies to home or from home...
