Non-Fiction
Untitled by Mark Miretsky
They told him to meet them near the Pivovarsky Dum, one block down the left side away from the church square. Such directions were simple enough though he had not been there before. The church he knew: a friend of a friend’s played the Sunday morning organ there. The square he knew: a bus once waited in the ‘no parking’ zone destined for Cesky Krumlov. The Pivovarsky Dum he intuited: a night too drunk to remember, but as we well know, auras do not escape.
Onda by David Ruelas
Sets of magenta ruffles on the dancers’ dresses coaxed into sideways eights flashing in the periph. Tubas and trombones and brass squawking over the 1-2 of four and six-stringed guitars, while the men in black suits with the gold trim, the cartoonishly big hats to match, wail about lost love and leaving home. It seems funny against the upbeat tune.
