If You’re Here With Us, Give Us a Sign of Your Perversion
My wife is a ghost hunter. Actually, my wife considers herself more of a Paranormal Anthropologist. But, essentially, she’s a ghost hunter. And if that makes you think of poorly socialized men on basic cable running around decrepit buildings in the dark, adorned with over-moussed fauxhawks, poorly groomed goatees, and overdeveloped vanity muscles, then you’re in the ballpark. My wife does tend to bump around decrepit buildings or other structures in the dark. However, she doesn’t tend to run screaming from strange noises and the word, “Bro,” is noticeably absent from her vocabulary.
Read the rest of this nonfiction piece by Stev Weidlich in next week’s Spring Issue of Streetlight.
From what Fern can tell it looks like a fight. Fern’s watching through a back screen door which makes the scene look like a pointillist painting. Grace flies across the kitchen floor at Philip, something in her hand, and it looks like she’s hitting him across the shoulder with it. Fern stands still for a minute, holding a bottle of white wine with one hand, her book bag and purse in the other. Then she goes for the door handle.
Read the rest of the story by Mariflo Stephens in next week’s Streetlight.
Also look for:
More fiction by Katie Rogin
Art by Robin Braun and Robert Browning.
Poetry by Alison Schreck and James Fishwick
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