The TiltMN fiction archives
The TiltMN fiction archives & stories from writers local and beyond
A quantifiable attraction described as magic. Like Charles Bukowski in Factotum, “I kiss her. She answers with her tongue. Women are magic.”
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?
The first thing I knew about my mom was that she loved the countryside; fields of grass and flowers in the summer, and white snow in the winter.
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.
Sometimes a struggling relationship can only end in smoke, as it does in this powerful short story by Jeremy Laue, with nothing left but a burned-out shell.
The rain bites through my coat and makes me shiver. A few cars roll past me on the street, tires squealing in the cold air. This is my neighborhood.