Flash Frog

Three knocks at the gate. I look at my son, Tristan, and whisper, “Think it’s safe?” “That’s the signal,” he says. “Then see who it is.” He slides the couch cushion open, allowing in some living room light and releasing some morning breath from…

My father is packing his suitcase. There are six pairs of underwear mother has whitened to a crisp. He packs a rabbit foot my little sister Rajna had given to him on his birthday. He neatly adds a Penthouse magazine. He has also packed his penis. This, however,…

The government sent a man to count the dead in Iztapalapa—the murder capital of Mexico. He wore clean shoes, so everyone knew he wouldn’t stay long. By noon the heat had softened his clipboard. The ink bled slightly, as if the numbers were melting….