The TiltMN fiction archives. Stories from writers local and elsewhere that give life a different glow.
Science saved my life, but it didn’t make me want to live. But like Frank says: As long as we fly, the world will have no end.
A quantifiable attraction described as magic. Like Charles Bukowski in Factotum, “I kiss her. She answers with her tongue. Women are magic.”
The air is a perfect 80 degrees. Winter is over. The people around us are musing, eternally, how much of their lives they’ve spent sitting in cars.
Stress. Food. Plates. Happy guests, impatient guests, angry guests. Dig deeper, stay on point. All part of a Saturday night in the restaurant industry.
When your dreams go one way but life goes another, sometimes all you can do is smile and realize that it’s the small things that are worth celebrating.
We’ll spend our night under the stars of Guadalajara, falling asleep so peacefully sound that not even the calls of animals around us will disturb our dreams.
I’m 25 years old. I have an apartment that is warm in the winter. I have leftover ramen I made in the fridge that I’ll eat after getting high.
We called her Rusty because there was a rumor that the hair between her legs was the red color of rust and aren’t the neighborhood kids so funny?
One old man tells his story of life lived; the poetry of a world we were all forced to inherit, and that we will all be forced to someday give up as well.
The doorman of a popular St. Pauli brothel sits down with TiltMN to describe a night in Europe’s largest Red Light District.