by Andrew Stancek

Ellen and I listen to rocks.

I pick up a sparkly hunk of mica, caress it by my ear, place it next to a cherry tree. “It mourns unrequited love.”

Ellen takes her mask off, picks up a new specimen. “I am changing my name to Etienne. And I want a baby. Now.”

The ambulances are whining in the background, full court press on Mount Sinai along 110th, every day, every hour. Almost stop hearing them after a while, but not quite.

Today’s count is 38,167.

Andrew Stancek describes his vocation as dreaming – clutching onto hope, even in turbulent times. He has been published widely, in SmokeLong Quarterly, FRIGG, Green Mountains Review, New World Writing, New Flash Fiction Review, Jellyfish Review and Peacock Journal, among others. He has won the Reflex Fiction contest, the New Rivers Press American Fiction contest and been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. He continues to be astonished.