Justin Jones
I’m lying under my grandmother’s clothesline, watching the bed sheets overhead billow in the wind. Wafts of Downy fabric softener…
In what was perhaps the best pick-up line I’ve heard in the past six months (coincidentally, the only pick-up line…
My room doesn’t have the effects of boys’ rooms my age. There are no posters of pretty girls, no baseball…
An empty lecture hall in the middle of the night. I’m on my back; he’s on top of me. Kissing…
Coca-Cola was an everyday thing and we ate McDonald’s twice a week. We hadn’t heard of gluten and didn’t eat…
Among stuffed animals and bruised toys, near a wall covered by an “Old McDonald” mural, over a giant rug depicting…
No one could see him but me. I was six years old when he chased me. The goblin was a…
The Gorgeous Boy has picture-perfect teeth and he picture-perfect smiles. His cheeks rise, his eyes scrunch. His laugh is charming…
Uncle Bobby, Uncle Johnny, and my father are sitting in my grandparents’ living room watching NASCAR. I don’t understand the…
Midsummer’s night, 2004. I’m 18. This will be my last year in Fort Lauderdale. I’m with friends at the home…
