She swallowed hard and peered over her shoulder. In the dim light, Zoe made out the silhouette of a chicken head. She turned back, her breath caught in her throat. It made no sense—the chicken they had bought had no head. 

Because whether it’s a bean smear inside of a tortilla or a meaty one in the middle of the road, it makes no difference in the end.

It was a good steak knife. Margaret’s was. It could do so many things, even if there was no steak for dinner.

Mouths wide open. That’s how his neighbors spend their evenings nowadays. Necks cocked back to the ceiling, taking in the dripping streams...

The toppings sloughed then plopped and sunk in the cloudy water below. Pepperoni, olives, sausage chunks, and peppers...

He’s crept inside and sewn himself into the fibers. One by one, each and every stitch is his, is his...

A marked man’s prowess lives beneath the next man's shoes. He’s a gunslinger with a turkey in his holster. That’s right. You ever been scared of your next meal?

That bologna sandwich turned eating into a miserable production. From that moment on, I deconstructed and reimagined the eating process of every food set before me with both diligence and border-line mania...

All I want is a bowl of cereal, but a family of rats picked off my teeth. So I’ll have applesauce—like I did yesterday...

It must have started somewhere, right? Only you weren’t meant to remember. That's part of the inheritance...