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Painting

It was the divine. He knew none of it made sense. Really, he hated it. But here and now, it was fucking gorgeous. 

Fiction by Benjamin Blay

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Coffee Routine

My teammates’ hands reach for a touch, their fingers wiggling like sea anemones in my periphery. In the car ride home, my father teaches me the word charisma.

Creative Nonfiction by Susannah Borysthen-Tkacz

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Mona Lisa in Bronze

 

Where had he found rum?  I took a sip. It was strong but sweet. Warm from his hands. “In Cuba we have a saying,” he said, “when you drink from my cup, you learn my secrets.”

Creative Nonfiction by Dacia Price

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