Adam Fieled (editor, Plymouth Meeting, Pennsylvania): "Palette"

There, Laird was— suburban provider, Christian
Rightest— but no goomba. The Harjus chose not
to do outside-inside as a demarcative imperative. They
were around. Abby, feasibly, could’ve been in with them.
It was a quirk of the time that she was not. Perhaps they
would reject her dyke streak, dyke habits, dyke friends.
Hard to tell. But, worth knowing— there was no Abby
to Media. Being lateral, the data is there to work with—
Abby, of the two, could cut a rug properly. Mary, trying
to dance, was a clumsy giraffe. Twice lateral, understand
that Mary was very floridly emotional about other people.
She was personal. Abby was a spark-plug, but could also
be a clod, where other people were concerned. When Abby
danced with boys (and girls), she came to vivid life. Pre-ambling

through the past, to get to the night, upstairs at the Khyber,
dead of winter, when the Free School were stationed there for drinks,
as were The Bats. I’m, in that context, the only Free School
guy other than Gaetan who could man the dance floor, and of
course Gaetan could wipe the floor with me there. As could
Abby, and was doing precisely that, but then commenced to
flirt with me. Aggressively. Letting through deeply felt emotions,
for once, which had been boiling beneath the surface for
years. Being passionate, like Mary. We spent maybe fifteen
minutes grinding. Staying in that moment, no denying a shared
sense of resentment with Mary, who had jumped ship, joined
Laurie in pursuit of money. Let it be known, also, that her new
material tastes were sophisticated ones, her new husband
a sophisticated palette to feed. Now Abby and I could feed on each other.

© Adam Fieled 2026