William Pitt Root takes no prisoners while he trashes the rich with a kind of manly anger we haven't seen in this magazine since Mark Spitzer went to Kansas
Jim Hazard's prose fumes like a steel-mill smokestack in this midwestern epic of night shift realism
Michael K. White's extremely scary report from the angry gut of the proletariat
Al Frank writes from heart-breaking universe of the struggling (artsy and love-starved) young
John L. Sheppard's "Gimpy" gets fired and has an instant vision of a better life
April MacIntyre is a corporate crisis PR specialist, and her story of panic at SilverLake, "an artsy, eastern Los Angeles community," is no fairy-tale.
Dan Campbell serves the working class by revealing just how much plastic there actually is in the mind of the CEO; also, he respects what $10 represents (not like some of our readers)
Chris Semansky generates the perfect Recommendation Letter, then pens a "Self-Portrait Pending Approval," proving that he's fully hipped to the hell machine
Doren Robbins sings (in two stories) the tragic predicament of an employed (maybe) salad-eater who explores sexuality (maybe) and white-collar crime (certainly) for purely emotional reasons.
Benjamin Ikenson' father coming home from work
Stashu Kapinski is "an amalgam of voices from the Lawrenceville neighborhood in Pittsburgh; unemployed steel workers, chronic drunks, disenfranchised immigrants;"
Jonathan Lyons scores one for "The Graveyarders." We do know how weird the world looks when you're pulling that graveyard shift; it's how the Corpse is born, every time.
Damien Thompson makes an argument against "Hangovers" (no argument here), from the point of view of a poor drudge who must work the next day. 'Nuf said.