by Michael Bazzett | Mar 31, 2015
The girl left her house and went into the woods. The ground seemed to swallow the sound of her footsteps, and yesterdays’ rain lifted the smell of leaves into the pink cushions of her lungs. Her nostrils flared to drink the loamy scent. She wore a blue wool coat with...
by Michael Bazzett | Jun 9, 2014
It was a pale imitation of justice, but all in all we agreed the testimony rang true. Outside, the shadows of the houses swallowed the shadows of the pigeons without flinching. Some things are easier to absorb than others, said the judge, using white gloves and what...
by Michael Bazzett | May 1, 2014
He wore a slightly rumpled shirt, its placket buttoned off by one so a triangle of cloth flapped loose over his belt buckle. It struck me this was possibly a studied move meant to indicate joie de vivre. He set his coffee down with a clack, sat in the chair opposite...
