An Icy Lot

I cautiously got out of my car into the icy lot. A man in a chair was spinning his wheels.

“Do you need any help?” I asked.

“What the hell do I need help for? Everyone thinks the cripple needs help. Damnit, no I don’t need help,” he said.

“I’m sorry, I just thought...”

“That’s your problem. Think too much. What do you know about being crippled?”

“I have schizophrenia,” I said.

“Well, congratulations. We’re both cripples,” he said. He broke a smile and we laughed.

“You don’t feel bad for me anymore do you?”

“Not at all,” I laughed.

From Guest Contributor Steve Colori

Happy Dick

I fell hard for Johnny Carvello. Dagos got me wet. He preferred strippers, ringside tables, hand on crotch, watching them work the pole. Called it “happy dick.” We were the perfect pair, the ex-Mafioso and the car crash cripple. Both, second rate goods. He had a thing for my still-perfect feet, bathed them in rosewater, sucked the toes, jacked himself off all over them. He'd pose me naked, on the bed, do tai chi by candlelight, his eyes on mine. Months into it when he tried to fuck me, I broke it off. The relationship, not the dick.

From Guest Contributor Alexis Rhone Fancher

Alexis is a member of Jack Grapes’ L.A. Poets & Writers Collective. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in RATTLE, BoySlut, The Mas Tequila Review, The Good Men Project, Gutter Eloquence, Cultural Weekly, High Coupe, Tell Your True Tale, Downer Magazine, Bare Hands Anthology, Ireland, The Sun Magazine, The Juice Bar, and elsewhere. Alexis was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2013. She is the poetry editor of Cultural Weekly. Hotnovelist@me.com/alexis@culturalweekly.com