Short Story: Claire’s “Pandemic”
Pandemic by Claire Matturro The last man on stage Struts and frets as he exits. From a tree, a wren Sings “Ode to Joy” as a rose Opens to the sun.
Pandemic by Claire Matturro The last man on stage Struts and frets as he exits. From a tree, a wren Sings “Ode to Joy” as a rose Opens to the sun.
by Claire Matturro Dayton sipped his vodka martini when he would rather have had a beer and listened to Miriam talk about her recently murdered boss. Saturday night, and he was out with a real
by Claire Matturro (previously published at New Verse News) Maybe it started with that woman— the one in the fake Tudor—guiding her Escalade with Greenpeace stickers through the drive-thru in her fit of fury hunger on
by Claire Matturro Harold slumped in a red vinyl chair at the kitchen table, his cool cup of coffee shaking in his hands. “Careful, Hon,” his wife Rose said as she took the cup from