J.L. Thurston, Fiction Jenni Thurston J.L. Thurston, Fiction Jenni Thurston

Santa's Gift

Ricky stood in the snow with one sneaker untied and his backpack hanging far too low on his back. His breath misted in the frigid December air. He shook, but not from the cold. His mother taught him to layer up, making it almost impossible to catch a chill.

No, his shivers were from fear. A fear he had every year. But this year was going to be different.

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Joe Janes Joe Janes Joe Janes Joe Janes

A Merry Christmas Punch/CounterPunch On the Sensitive Topic of One Mr. George Bailey, Part Two

I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. It’s just so hard to argue something I no longer believe. Don Hall is right. George Bailey is not a good person. He never took a single step outside of Bedford Falls. His family lives in a drafty old house that he used to throw rocks at. He has a kid named Zuzu. Zuzu—short for Pazuzu, the demon from The Exorcist… I just, I can’t.

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David Himmel David Himmel David Himmel David Himmel

Still Got It

Part of getting older is realizing that you are, in fact, older. And in many cases, we age out of our horned up youth into a relaxed state of domestication. But it’s naturally human to wonder if you still got it. If you’re still an object of interest—not affection—to the people you meet or even pass on the street or at Target on Sunday mornings.

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