Just as her poetry can prove dark, Graye has a black thumb...and can’t keep plants alive. But, ever the dreamer, she meanders in her heart, penning petals on page, hoping to create a meadow. She is thrilled and grateful to have works published at both The Rye Whiskey Review and The Abyss
We're the Ezine dedicated to all things barroom. We are slightly off what others consider the norm and always the last to close the bar. If you prefer the local dive bar to the glitz of some overpriced club then you're our kind of people. So welcome grab a drink and enjoy.
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Room for Future Boxes - Angela M. Carter
I drove a twenty-foot U-Haul south on the interstate with the windows down, sweat running into my eyes, beneath the brim of a trucker hat t...
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Why do I bother plugging the phone in? if I’m waiting for good news, it won’t come miracles do happen but they never happen to me so I might...
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The porch holds smoke. Not a room. A line. Neighbors on the rail. Shoulders set. No give. Sailors kick the Atlantic off their boots. Salt hi...
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Maybe about a hundred people know about this place, but you only ever find not even a dozen troubled souls on any given night here. Directio...
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