The miserable specimen of a husband didn’t even look up when she said she was going out to get some cigarettes. READ ONLINE

MR CHIPS AND THE MANGO-TANGO MOTHER SHIP BY ALICE HATCHER 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 36

Laura? You changed your message. Nice try. It’s me. Pick up the phone. I know you’re there.

THE LANDLINE BY JOSEPH GRANTHAM 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 36

THE BRONOWSKI BRAIN BY BARBARA L BAER 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 36

Eddie was pulling up in front of Romayne’s when he saw a long black car idling across the street. He screeched to a stop, jumped out, ducked his head, ran for the door.

Romayne opened up, barefoot, big toe as huge as a python’s head, bare hairless chest beaded with sweat as if he were wearing a necklace of broken glass. He, too, scanned the street but the car was no longer there. Eddie thought the stainless steel teeth in the middle of Romayne’s mouth looked like a polished kitchen tool.

“Come on in, Ed, you are looking shaky.”

“Someone was following me,” Eddie answered.

“No, street’s quiet. Granny’s been asking after you.” Romayne bared his grin.

“I hope she’s well.” Eddie’s legs trembled and his hands shook.

“I’m only pulling your leg. All’s forgiven. You were a saint, man. You waiting for a written invitation to sit yourself down?” Romayne pushed him toward the couch.

“I’ve come to pay up and then I have to leave,” Eddie said.

“What’s the rush? Burning hot out there. Kawani, where are you, girl! We got company. Go get us mango tea. You like tea, Ed? You like Kawani’s style, her walking style, don’t you now?”

Kawani smiled at Eddie. She was a round-bosomed, round-bottomed young woman from an island somewhere in the Pacific, not Jamaica where Romayne came from, somewhere where she’d left young children. She had a sexy gap in her front teeth. Sometimes in bed, Eddie imagined Kawani’s breasts bared above a sarong on her island, aqua seas, and her children around her, safe from Romayne.

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THE BRONOWSKI BRAIN

BARBARA L BAER

THE LANDLINE

JOSEPH GRANTHAM

PORTRAITS

ROBYN WEAVER

MR CHIPS AND THE
MANGO-TANGO MOTHER SHIP

ALICE HATCHER

WILLIE WAYNE WILLIAMS, PHD

CLARA B JONES

A KISS IS A NEW THING

JANE SHERWIN

 

34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE
REALITY & FICTION


ISSUE 36 MAY 2016 34THPARALLEL@GMAIL.COM

 

34thParallel

Turning trash into art is like meditation or yoga.

MY LOVE AFFAIR WITH THE ART OF MARITA DINGUS BY STACY LAWSON
34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 34

What you see in my pictures are bits and pieces of myself.

COLORS ARE MOODS BY CARLYN PORTER
34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 07

She seemed to know too much, but he’d play along.

BANKER’S BUSY BABY BY KATHRYN BUCKLEY
34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 24

 

She takes out a manuscript titled Andy vs Adolf.

MY ULTRA BY ALEXANDER J MOTYL
34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 28

“Can we talk, at least, before I go?" you say but I don’t, won’t answer. You can talk to yourself all you want when you get back to Brooklyn. I don’t care. Hell, you have two hands and an imagination plus the internet connection you steal from your landlord two floors down. Cheap motherfucker. You can do all the talking you want till you jerk yourself dead. “I love you,” you say.

CENTRAL PARK BY ETKIN CAMOGLU 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 30

She will get up at this point, walk over to me, and repeat the question. Who are we? Why are we too busy to do anything outside of work and eat and sleep and shit?

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34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE BY MARTIN CHIPPERFIELD