5-fiction

The Shapiros | Michael Wesner

I was halfway through a Maury rerun when the kids started yelling about dolphins. It was almost noon on the Fourth of July, and I was drinking coffee from my Garfield mug in front of the new 60-inch Smart TV that I’d bought with ex-husband, Carlo’s, child support. The piece of shit. Even though our children were well into their 20s, some legal mistake with the paperwork kept the son of a bitch sending me money each year. He called my cell every once in a while to ask me to do something about it, but I stopped answering after I bought the TV.

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Winter Generation | John Rudoy

On a Friday in January, Grandpa slipped on the ice outside the Morse Red Line stop. He had told us himself how dangerous that sidewalk was. The snow piled on the elevated track, and the drainpipe was clogged, so when it melted and refroze with the alternating glare of the winter sun and the chill of the lake winds, great icicles bulged and stretched nearly halfway to the ground and a pane of mirror-smooth ice spread itself over the pavement below.

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