“So I’ve got to go to the kiddie pool? Is that what you’re saying?”
“If you want to learn to windsurf,” Susan said, “you need to begin at the
beginning.”
He put the fork in his mouth, chewed quickly and swallowed. His
Adam’s apple bobbed and ducked. There was sauce around the outside of
his lips. It clung to his thin black moustache.
“Elk Lake it is, I guess.” He jabbed his fork back onto his plate. It scraped
against the ceramic.
Susan winced ...
Prose, in its entirety, is available in the printed version of the current issue.
Bio:
Sean Maschmann’s short fiction has appeared in Fourteen Hills, Prime Number Magazine, and elsewhere. He lives and works in Vancouver.