One month left to submit to Issue 8, and a piece from Issue 6
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\ A piece from Issue 6
“Valhalla and the Starlight Lounge”, by Garrett Saleen (Propagule 6)
That evening the Starlight was hot and much worse in the suit. Everything itched and dripped and festered. On nights like these, the Officer Bartender used to open McGruff’s backflap and run the AC into him from a tube, filling him up like a balloon on the Macy’s Day rerun channel. But the second window unit broke down three months after it replaced the first, and their twin carcasses now obscured both views out of the bar. The frenzied escape from the old man’s hospital room engorged his hip tumor under his trousers like the beginnings of a misshapen limb. He once drunkenly asked the Officer Bartender to flick it to see if she could burst the relieved mess on the mirror over the bar, clumps waxing down his greasy reflection like flung grits. When she actually leaned over to oblige he’d recoiled as if she lunged at him with a big knife. McGruff’s body had become a mycotic incest of slops and horrors.
“Valhalla and the Starlight Lounge” by Garrett Saleen, from Propagule 6. In which McGruff, who’s been wearing a dog suit for a record-breaking interval of more than thirty years, is preparing for his party about that fact, and the pension it will furnish, and is starting to succumb to kind of ratcheting paranoia concerning the status of his congratulatory Buffalo wings, which may or may not have actually made it out of the kitchen, not to mention the fairly real possibility of being murdered by any number of anonymous parties roving the wasteland out there, and is surrounded by cops as well as robots (also dog-suited) and—well, at this point you might as well just start reading. So many excellent, lurid sentences in this one too. We promise it’ll be awesome.