MR. TOBBLER’S SUNDAY AFTERNOON

MR. TOBBLER’S SUNDAY AFTERNOON

It was barely noon on Sunday when Mr. Tobbler noticed three things about the man walking beside him: First, that he had a large, white pimple on the left side of his cheek. Second, that he was dressed entirely in black. And third, that his shadow, which should have fallen nearby, was

THE ENCHANTING LIFE OF FLANNIGAN BIXBY

THE ENCHANTING LIFE OF FLANNIGAN BIXBY

It was only slightly raining when Timothy Dinwiddle began his usual walk to the train station but still he wished he hadn’t forgotten his red umbrella with the purple dots. The umbrella was a present from his ever-traveling sister, Bertrice, a purple-spotted souvenir from her August trip to Vienna, where

THE WHISPERS OF WHEAT

THE WHISPERS OF WHEAT

“I wake up every morning and say to myself, ‘Son of a bitch, I’m still alive.'” It was the farmer, John Dittlesby, who said this between falsetto snivels of his wicker rocking chair. Before that he sat in silence, staring at an upturned floorboard on the porch that wrapped a dilapidated

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