ROCK STAR AT LA SCALA BY DC DIAMONDOPOLOUS 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 70
Nana would have been pleased with my La Scala scheme. My happiest memories had been when we picnicked along the Susquehanna River. Nature and its integrity. That’s the life to live, far away from illusions. My sophisticated grandmother, who behind closed doors smoked thin cigars, swore, and taught me to play poker, would have said, “Darlin’, it’s about time.”
THE LOTUS EATERS BY TRAVIS DUNCAN 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 70
You’ve masticated, digested, and shat out a priceless work of literature and you’ve filmed it? This is really too much. I’m sorry, this is my last day here and, while this has been very entertaining, I really need to get back to work.
I HEARD HIS VOICE BY ATASH YAGHMAIAN 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 70
Marco took some white rocks out of the bag and put them into a glass pipe.
“Is that crack?” I asked.
“Don’t call it that,” he said. “That’s what people in the ghetto call it. We call it smoking coke.”
He took a big hit and leaned back on the couch with a satisfied look on his face. As his body melted into the couch, something strange happened to me.
I heard the Muslim call to prayer, but we were somewhere in the Lower East Side of New York City and there were no minarets. I strained my ears to listen. Children’s voices seemed to be coming from outside the window, though we were on the fourth floor. I let the sounds wash over me.
Then the deep, soft voice of my Uncle Hossain filled my ears: “Azizam, movazeb baash kasi nayad too. My love, don’t let anyone in.”