"Favourable" painting by Michael Moreth

by Daniel Speechly

It started with galbi-jjim.

We ladled the savory stew onto our rice and into our mouths; it tasted of life itself: browned beef-ribs, carrot, potato, radish, pyogo mushroom, garlic, and jujube brought together in a simmering pot brimming with sugar and soy.

The glistening ribs plucked from the broth were like revelation precariously grasped between our chopsticks. With our first bites the world bared its soul, showing us possibilities we had never considered.

“City Hues in Blues” painting by Nuala McEnvoy

by Terrance Wedin

American Electric Power

They only care when you add someone. They want to know that person is worth the risk. Over the phone they make you verify that you are you. Last four digits. Mother’s maiden name.

But to remove them? A simple request. That person’s name is gone.

One less person for power company to worry about.

Pink Days

Art by Matt Bollinger

by Yuko Iida Frost

One night after work in December, I decided to hop on the express train to visit Masa unannounced. The restaurant where he worked was tucked behind a quiet street, off the Imperial Palace. The oldest in Kyoto, it used to serve the emperor until the capital moved to Tokyo, formerly called Edo, in the late nineteenth century. The street was dark. Their unassuming façade disguised its legendary reputation and looked more like an entrance to an old merchant’s house trying to hide his wealth. The sliding door was almost invisible with only two dimly lit paper lanterns hanging on both sides.

Art by Andy Mister

by Marilyn Martin

Nine years after my father died, my mother dug up a clump of wild irises from behind the New York suburban house where she still lived and where I’d grown up. At the time, my two young children and I were visiting, and the evening before we were to leave, my mother tenderly swaddled one iris in damp paper towels and placed it in a shopping bag. On the plane, the iris balanced between Sara and John who put their arms around it as we cruised 30,000 feet above the earth.

Art by Matt Bollinger

by Katie McDonough

The day before the motel sells I’m on a train headed upstate, trying—and failing—to focus on work. This is an ill-timed trip: It’s mid-week during the busy season at my job, and I have a young son at home. But as dutiful as I am, I am equally sentimental, and I don’t want to miss my chance to see the place one more time.

When I arrive at the train station my mom is waiting in the parking lot. “Is it really going to happen?” she whispers goofily,

Art by Andy Mister

by Steven Karl

It was evening. I was depressed. I was in bed, my secret Sony Walkman tucked under the covers. The lights were off. My parents were in bed. My sister had already been kicked out. Another hushed-up and closed-in night. Outside bats began to rise and fall while cats hunted voles. The moon a static smirk.

I clicked play and the opening notes of Slayer’s “South of Heaven” bombarded my ears—a steady death march. In secrecy, I had spent the entire week trying to learn the song on my BC Rich bass.