Jove knew the rules.

He knew the upper limits.

BLIND FISH BY SAMUEL DAMON 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 103

The notes from Jove’s guitar zipped like daisy-cutters across the hairy back lawn. The Stratocaster’s strings writhed in his fingers, bluesy syrup, gospel in the throat of the leader of the choir rolling in the hay with God himself. Banks of leviathan amplifiers surrounded the rough-hewn rocker in which Jove crouched. Glasses with lenses a centimeter thick perched on his nose. A dainty French-tickler growing from his lower lip dangled merrily as he sang the lyrics. One leg, clad in hacked dungarees, twitched. While the other leg, a grass-stained sneaker worked the pedal of a phase shifter. With two string-callused fingers, he gently nudged the volume control. 

I feel more at home here than anywhere else on earth.

THE TRAGEDY OF THE ROSEMARKIE SEAL BY EMILY NEVES 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 103

I turn my back to the cave wall and look out. The slope of the hill and a little green bramble with a spray of yellow flowers partially obscures one side of the opening and on the other side I see the green-gray sea reaching to the horizon. I think, I could live here if I had to. 

This is perfect.


We found a truly perfect site. I parked the car near a picnic table, trees standing tall and straight with branches keeping the place cool, and there were no other campers between us and the lake. 

This being Irina’s first camping trip in the States, I was hoping, hoping, hoping all would go well. It was like living in an outdoor hotel. No rain—not even dew in the morning. No mosquitoes as well. We had toilets, water hydrants, and wi-fi. 

PERFECT BY JAMES MARTIN 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 103

Mistress of the woods

and keeper of what’s real.

MISTRESS OF THE WOODS BY RICH MOORE 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 103

Her hair spills down/ over her broad shoulders/ in long, soft wavey strands/ the color of dewy moist/ coastal redwood bark.

There’s something up with this. It only does fifties.

SWEET NOTHING BY LINDSAY SMITH 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 103

“Fifties is good,” Harry says. He takes out a hundred, two fifties. He smiles goodbye to the woman, stuffing the fifties in his pocket. Harry crosses the road swinging his re-usable plastic shopping bag. An old man lying on a bench raises his hand, “Can you spare fifty?”  Harry drifts through a supermarket. They’re out of Vegemite. At the checkout the blonde asks, “Did you watch the football at the weekend? That’s 14.85.” Harry hands over a fifty. The checkout chick asks him, “You got anything smaller?”