3rd-place winer of the Cuffer Prize 2011
Eva Crocker
Shayla was taking care of her boyfriend's baby for the day so he could pick up an extra shift.
Mike worked at the Weston Bread Factory. He liked it there. He said there was tea and cookies in the break room. They got dental. His sweat smelled of warm wet dough. It was like he was always sweating off a hangover.
The baby's face was a strange version of Mike's. Vicky Lynn had the same wide nostrils, but on her face they looked fragile, like something moulded out of marzipan. She had his see-through eyelashes. She had his fine red hair, but on her it was a mess of tangled curls.
The way she was and wasn't him reminded Shayla of a parlour trick. Like wiggling your body through a metal hanger, flipping your eyelids inside out.
Shayla put on a pair of flip-flops by the front door and headed over to the store. Vicky Lynn's baby's potbelly was pressed against her side. Cars stopped in both directions to let them cross Queen's Road. It was evening. People were turning on their headlights. rShayla felt the cold on her ankles.
With shades of lusty odes to the opposite sex live “Baby Got Sauce” and “Booty Call,” “Just Fine” is a deliciously vintage electric-tinged G. song, but it precedes the official confirmation that G. Love recording with the Avetts was possibly one of the
She got a Marie Claire mention last month.) Tall glass-topped Ikea desks with MacBooks. A beat-up conference table with colored pencils and a jar of Sate Trieu-Chau thai chili sauce. An iPod shuffling the Beatles, John Mayer, Rage Against the Machine,