Dubliners

by James Joyce

THERE WAS no hope for him tins time: it was the third stroke.

Street lit

by Andrew Ratner

Street lit

by Andrew Ratner

Street lit

by Andrew Ratner

Sister Carrie

by Theodore Dreiser

When Caroline Meeber boarded the afternoon train for Chicago, her total outfit consisted of a small trunk, a cheap imita...

The dopeman's wife

by JaQuavis

G-Spot

by Noire.

It was right around midnight and bodies were heating up at the G-Spot.

A Fine Balance

by Rohinton Mistry

THE MORNING EXPRESS bloated with passengers slowed to a crawl, then lurched forward suddenly, as though to resume full s...

City of Night

by John Rechy

LATER I WOULD THINK OF AMERICA as one vast City of Night stretching gaudily from Times Square to Hollywood Boulevard-juk...

The coldest winter ever

by Sister Souljah

I never liked Sister Souljah, straight up.

Manhattan Transfer

by John Dos Passos

THE nurse, holding the basket at arm's length as if it were a bedpan, opened the door to a big dry hot room with greenis...

Urban Grit

by Megan Honig

Push

by Sapphire, Tayari Jones

I was left back when I was twelve because I had a baby for my fahver.

Urban grit

by Megan Honig

The Cartel

by Ashley & JaQuavis

Moth to a flame

by Ashley

True to the Game II

by Teri Woods

American Film

by American Film Institute

Stupeur et tremblements

by Amélie Nothomb

MISTER HANEDA WAS senior to Mister Omochi, who was senior to Miss Mori, who was senior to me.

Midnight and the meaning of love

by Sister Souljah