Published by Journal of Compressed Creative Arts

When a crisp graham cracker falls through the slot and into her waiting hands, she gasps, does a little dance. It might have been an apple. Or a celery stick. Or a kosher pickle. Or a radish. It might have been nothing. Or too much something, like a whole head of cabbage or a meatloaf. A graham cracker is precisely what she wants and she exults in it, puts it to her nose and takes deep, luxurious whiffs as she walks to the back wall and sinks into her haunches.

Read More*

*JCCA’s site was hacked a couple of years ago, deleting all archived material, and as of 8/4/2018 I don’t see the work recovered. “Read More” links to my published story as captured by the Internet Archive’s Wayback Machine.
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