W E I G H T
By Dawn Lowe

I saw a Good Samaritan beside the road and stopped the car.

He held a sign: SPACE SUIT FOR SALE

He was old, thin and wasted. The space suit lay in the dust at his feet, white and shiny, a US flag on its chest.

“How much?” I asked.

“$1,500,” he said. “Cash.”

I put the space suit in the back seat of my car and the old man got in beside it. The suit, seated like a passenger, was three inches taller than the Samaritan.

“Where’d you get it?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I was an astronaut.”

“What’s your name?”

“Does it matter? Once you’re grounded, they all forget.” Continue reading “ISSUE 1: MARCH 2014” →