Peter Vilbig
Buckets

Peter Vilbig - Buckets

Fiction
Peter Vilbig is a writer and teacher in Brooklyn, New York. His most recent story, “Receptacle,” can be read in… Read more »
Nick Sawatsky
Nourish

Nick Sawatsky - Nourish

Fiction
When Nick Sawatsky isn’t writing, he’s studying writing at Hiram College. Or editing said writing or submitting to literary magazines… Read more »
Peter Kispert
Off Trajectory

Peter Kispert - Off Trajectory

Fiction
Peter Kispert recently served as the editor-in-chief of Indiana Review, where he founded an annual book prize partnership with Indiana… Read more »
Philip Gardner
Winner Take Nothing

Philip Gardner - Winner Take Nothing

Fiction
Phillip Gardner’s stories have appeared in Euphony, New Delta Review, Interim, The North American Review and LIT. He is the… Read more »
Jordan Rossen and Paul Rossen
You Thrive Now

Jordan Rossen and Paul Rossen - You Thrive Now

Fiction
Jordan Rossen’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in the Albion Review, Apalachee Review, Fourteen Hills, and elsewhere. He has… Read more »

Winner Take Nothing

Philip Gardner

I’m sitting on our ragged sofa holding my triple-aught Martin and experimenting with open tunings, looking for a kind of Keith Richards’ Start Me Up chord, when my girlfriend Beverly answers the doorbell. I’d written the lyrics for a song called We Both Loved You Best, but I had no music. I’m channeling Keith when I hear Beverly squeal.

She’s already dressed for work, Hooter’s T-shirt and those skintight hot pants, bright orange ones. And now she’s standing before the mailman doing this cheerleader thing where she goes up on her tiptoes and smacks her pompoms together just under her chin. The mailman, who’s getting a good eyeful, holds out a pen.

“No thanks,” I say to him.

“Sign,” Beverly says in this real breathy voice. “That’s what you do when you’ve won a contest. That’s how they verify the winner.”

“No thanks,” I say again to the postman.

“I’ve been entering every contest there is,” she says.

The postman looks at her chest.

“Then why isn’t it addressed to you?” The mail guy begins his impatient marching in place thing. “Thanks but no thanks,” I say. He starts down the sidewalk.

“What?” Beverly shouts. “This could be it… Read more »