The Midnight Pharmacy Run
The sign above the porch still said KÖT instead of KÖTT, missing one T, because nobody had ever fixed the missing T, and Jada had been…
Stories in Exhibitionist & Voyeur tagged warm and nostalgic, ranked by how many readers finish them. Reads run 13 to 19 minutes. Writers to know: Juniper Room, Vermilion Engine and The Breeze Craft. Readers usually start with “The Midnight Pharmacy Run” and “The Regulars' Show”. Some are free to read in full; the rest open with a free preview.
The sign above the porch still said KÖT instead of KÖTT, missing one T, because nobody had ever fixed the missing T, and Jada had been…
Thirty-four years, folks.
The ferry from Helsinki to the lakeside town takes four hours, and I spend all of it staring at the water and thinking about nothing.
The knock comes at 5:45 in the morning and I know it's him before I open the door.
The siren went off a little after six on a Tuesday evening, and it was the kind of sound that made your teeth hurt before your brain…
Mara Kingston was thirty-four years old, and she missed being watched.
The badge came in the mail on a Tuesday, and Franklin held it out to me like it was a medal.
I turned forty-four in March and around the same time I started to notice that people looked through me.
"You're late," I said, not looking up from the clipboard.
I'm not the kind of woman who ends up hiding behind hotel curtains, and I'll tell you that straightaway.
The flight into Salamanca had been delayed twice, once for weather over the Bay of Biscay and once for a paperwork problem nobody would…
I want to tell you about the night I stopped being careful at fifty-five years old, and it starts with snow, because of course it does.
Reba was fifty-two years old and she had been in Con Dao for exactly one week when she started noticing the man behind the dried fish store.
I'm twenty-eight years old, I keep telling myself that on the drive up the mountain road, because a woman who has spent four years…
My flight into Kerikeri was forty minutes late and my bag never showed up at all.
The shoot wrapped at seven, and by eight the stage was mine, or at least it felt like mine, one big empty room dressed as a 1970s wine bar…
I was thirty-five years old and I still thought about that dorm window, which is a stupid thing to admit but here we are.
The suit was Dottie's husband's.
I'm twenty-eight years old and I've spent six months watching a man through a window.
Tracey Farrell was thirty-four years old and she had been married long enough to know her husband's tells.