Here’s an excerpt from a story I wrote, “Thirteen Channels”, published by Slow Trains under the pen name Karl Krausbart. For the full text see www.slowtrains.com/issue2/krausbartissue2.html.

1 Henry and Marie. They are on a bed in neutral territory, a friend’s bed. Henry does not look at his ring. The window is open. They are careful not to make too much noise. Each one hears distant freeway sounds, not the same freeway sounds each hears at home. There is a clock on the dresser, an antique, stopped at an exact second, an exact minute, some indeterminate day.

2 A large party. Is he the one she’s been seeing? Am I looking at Marie too often? Alice imagines she has never heard laughter and hears how grotesque it is, like twenty animals each choking on a bone. Outside, four noble horses are slowly becoming mice.

3 Alice and Marie. They are having a heart-to-heart and telling all. They are lying through their teeth. They are revealing very deep feelings. They are concealing their “little” indiscretions. Neither says she might enjoy intimacy with the other. Both go home and watch the six o’clock news.

4 Henry and Arnold. They are trying something new for both of them, though Arnold came close to doing it once before with another man, a long time ago. Everything is prepared, liquor gulped down, hard rock. Henry wants to continue to the end, but Arnold is getting twitchy about the whole thing. Overhead, the 10:18 to Boston has reached 8000 feet. Engine number two is making a faint new sound, a kind of breathing.

(read the rest at www.slowtrains.com/issue2/krausbartissue2.html)

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