Sarah Gzemski Kelly is trying to pick up new habits— she read that getting a hobby, taking vacations, having sex, flossing, add years to your life, so she picked up some knitting needles on her way to Chesapeake Bay, where she met a man in the Crab House and Dock Bar on her twenty-first birthday and took him back to her room— I imagine him sprawled across her bed while she stands in the bathroom, scraping waxy ribbon against her teeth in a futile attempt to lengthen her future one second at a time.
Kris Price Silent Bicycling Bob He swoops by on an old bicycle from the 50's. A man from another era, hair white as a blank page, pants blue as morning sky, face weathered like an old leather shoe. Happy but tired, a white plastic bag full of beer and Doritos from the Quick Mart just up the street weighs like a boulder on the handle bars of his bike. He stares at the cigarette in my mouth with silent judgment. His callous, shivering hand makes the gesture of smoking as he shakes his head back and forth, giving me a nod as if to say: "Stop that shit." And just like that, he turns the corner. In a rush of smoke, he's gone.