For as long as I can remember, I’ve been in this suit, this overcoat of what you see, this visage of who you think I am. It slips sometimes and snags on things,...
You can tell by the sound of Atomic by Blondie pumping through the ailing sound system that Brandy is into her third dance. By the time Black Dog by Led Zeppeli...
I can remember everything.
When I say everything, I don’t mean to say almost everything. I mean to say everything. I mean to say that when I see a thing, it ...
I have a can of ashes. It is all that is left of my parents.
They want taken to some faraway place, some hippy-dippy part of the world, some beach in Fiji. S...
William M. McIntosh is a writer of drivel and collector of rejection letters. He loves literature, film and any other kind of art he can get his grubby little fingers on. His work has been published by Maudlin House, The /tƐmz/ Review, The Yard: Crime Blog, BarBar Magazine, Night Picnic Press, The Lowestoft Chronicle, Roi Fainéant Press, and Your Impossible Voice. He doesn’t tweet, but if he did it would be @moonliteciabata. You can find links to his work at www.wmmcintosh.com. He is based in Cincinnati.