Freshly Dusted

TarmacBy Asche Keegan “Do you always strike matches on your shoe?” Rick glanced over at her. “You ever smoked before?” “No.” “Figured.” He lit his cigarette and took a drag, turning and blowing the smoke into Lilith's face. She scrunched up her nose but didn’t cough, and he stared at her a couple of seconds longer before handing her the match. It took...

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 CabernetBy Asche Keegan  “You’re a racist, Bibbs,” I said, tipping the glass towards the ancient oil painting. The portrait continued to stare moodily into the distance, perhaps pondering a world where someone else might be as great as he. “And now I’ve gotta get rid of you somehow.” I swirled the glass, watching the Cabernet slosh back and forth. The sight made me...

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