Interlude

Just got done reading three stories from the latest issue of THUGLIT.

Jimmy Callaway tells you about YOUR OWN SATURDAY NIGHT. His narrator is one slick son of a bitch. The angle he thinks up, seemingly off the top of his head? Fucking brilliant.

The story's got 7-11s, cartoons, Burger King and fucking Choose Your Own Adventure books (I loved those things as a kid!) in it so what's not to love? Oh, yeah, and Fosters, Australian for bee-uh!

Meanwhile, Mike MacLean hands over a LITTLE GUN. 12 years old and this kid is a better shot than most men twice his age. In fact, his partner, his mom's ex-boyfriend, Ray, lets the kid do all the work while he disposes of all the evidence afterwards.

No one would expect a kid, right?

But there's a trade-off, of course. Kid's more socially awkward than the class nerd.

Them's the breaks, though, right?

Finally, Matthew Quinn Martin talks about CHICKENS. Not those chickens, let me assure you. No, he's talking about the human variety, those that don't stand up for themselves, letting themselves get pushed around.

I wrote Matthew earlier today and told him that his narrator was "ruthless and worthless". Trust me on this one.

And the ending is so right. This is a beautifully dark tale.

Check all of these puppies out. You won't be disappointed.