I’m from Malibu. I don’t walk.

WHIPTAIL UTOPIA BY CHASE EDWARDS 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 26

Before the hike one of my students ran her fingers through her tangled, blonde California-girl hair, looked at the rock formation ahead of us, batted her eyelashes at me and announced, “I’m from Malibu. I don’t walk!” She survived the hike. At the top of the rock formation I circled the students around a jojoba plant and explained that jojoba is an ingredient in many beauty products. Immediately, the girl from Malibu recognized the name from her conditioner bottle. “You’re a delight! Such a delight,” she said to the plant.

Can you play Love Shack?

WELCOME TO SIRE’S BY ROBERT MORGAN FISHER 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 26

“Can you play Love Shack by The B-52s?” said the girl, a gum-clacking local. “Sorry, no.” “Why not?” said the guy, an obvious homegrown college joe. “Because if you’ll look at the neon sign outside, you’ll see that the name of this establishment is Sire’s.” Hannum held up an Everyday is Like Sunday 12-inch by Morrissey. “We only play classic Sire Records.”

When we meet 

how shall I sum it up?

LAWN CONCERT BY CHRISTINA YU 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 26

Each of the projects I have completed recently has been more successful than the previous one. Each failure, however, has been more painful than the previous one (with each, there is more to lose) and each success, a greater relief (with each, all is recovered all over again) though even as I think this, I think also that it was either impossible for me to fail and impossible for me to succeed to begin with, and all these efforts have done nothing but confirm the initial truth, that I am neither a success nor a failure, whichever way it really is.

There’s no way to tell

what one could have been.