John H. Ostdick
“I pull alongside the bobcat and stare at him incredulously,” Ostdick writes in his Email from Dallas, taking us through the disparate worlds of the urban prairie around the city, where he is apt to encounter all manner of wildlife, during his bike rides or just enjoying a drink on the back patio.
Via her Email from the Upper West Side, Davis “confesses” how she became a Wall-Mart loyalist. In a separate piece, she conducts a Q&A with “Batmo,” her “bullet-riddled” black Nissan Maxima concerning life left out, night after night, on the streets of the Upper West Side.
Frank I. Sillay
In his Email from New Zealand, Sillay reminisces about his arrival in there in 1966 to find happy hour a hurry-up exercise via a law passed during WWI, ordering the bars to close at 6 p.m. “If you can’t get drunk by 6 o’clock,” one sot replied, “you’re clearly not trying!”
Scheller takes us back to his time on a Salmon fishing boat off Vancouver Island in 1981 and his success landing some arm-busting big ones.
In a world where today’s hot business is tomorrow’s forgotten enterprise, Tedeschi explores whether a future-proof business model is ever possible and finds the answer in an unlikely place.
Writer/Photographer Buddy Mays takes us on a photographic journey around the dramatic land- and seascapes of Iceland, animal life both wild and domestic.
Kendric W. Taylor
“Once even, I could remember every flight I had ever taken,” Ken Taylor relates as part of his lifelong love affair with air travel in “Hangar Flying.”
“I hear a voice, crying out in the velvet night,” begins Ginny Craven’s lyrically beautiful, achingly heartfelt poem, “The Voice,” shedding yet one more ray of light upon the soul-bearing movement: Me Too.
Studying her spring semester junior year in Florence, Katie Cappeller uses her free time to travel about Italy and beyond, armed with her iPhone camera and a great eye for photos.
What is real? What are the scribblings in a notebook? . . . The answers, or not, in this short story, “Key Largo,” by . . . well, he’s . . . Anonymous.