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I had become my father. Another alcoholic destined down a dark road of desperation. Rife with self-loathing, destitution, and despondency. A dissolute barfly full of contradictory, yet melancholic thoughts. My everyday was my yesterday. Nothing ever changed. Maybe because I was not ready for it to change. So, once again,Continue Reading

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Roger Camp is the author of three photography books including the award-winning Butterflies in Flight (Thames & Hudson, 2002) and Heat (Charta, Milano, 2008). His work has appeared in numerous journals including The New England Review, New York Quarterly, and the Vassar Review. He previously worked as a reference librarianContinue Reading

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A man is mowing his lawn at dawn with Airpods on in a yard five houses down. He is listening to a convicted felon describe fugue states and contemplating the utter silence of his street. It has been almost eight months since his wife left with Arwen, their Bichon Frise,Continue Reading

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Sometimes you walk in darkness, sometimes you walk in light. You get betrayed in ways large and small, at the same time you get lifted up in ways large and small. Sometimes the hand that reaches out to you is something large to grab onto that holds you firmly inContinue Reading

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The desolation started during the pandemic.Lines at the bank wrapped around and around the block.For someIt was their first encounter with the demon of food insecurity. The young ones cried carrying around an empty stomach forGod knows how long,While the parents whimpered embarrassed as headlines labeledthem failures. Others hoarded suppliesContinue Reading

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Hunkering down on a steel gray October day on a mural of B.B. King that Bobby Sutton painted at the end of Promontory Point. Having a smoke and looking all the way to where the water and the sky meet. The rap of strait pipes echoing off the worn-out brickContinue Reading

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1.in the pistachio-shell hours of some thousand grassy nights.innumerable like feet on street cornersand all their destinations. my mom’s new car belonged to someone’s old son,its duct-tape flapping as she speeds, the bumper banging along,happily and in disruption, mile after mile afterrrr 2.i walked from one city to the nextContinue Reading

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we build home out of half a whatever.a deck of cards smeared across the asphaltour hands slapping wildly like flying fish.a watery tongue spills over the rock ledgeand licks at the salt of our spilled trail mix. i’d write to the water but i’d be wrong.we don’t come for theContinue Reading

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I hadn’t been to a laundromat in a while. I knew where one was, though, about a mile from our house. It was right near Church Street where it crossed Niles Center Road, in a grim-looking strip mall alongside a Thai restaurant, a nail salon, and a medical supply store.Continue Reading

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Jeremy Szuder is a born and bred California native, raised with a tender and dedicated loyalty to the arts. His works have been published in Fine Print Literary and Visual Arts Publication, After Happy Hour Review, All The Sins, Home Sick Zine, several issues of L.A. Record Magazine as wellContinue Reading