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“Bling Bling,” by Marian Berges

Scott was a rock star. Not one of those rockers, touched by the gods, whose success is a just reward for essential fire. Scott wasn’t that, but he was close to it, second tier maybe, sliding maybe down the other side of that hill, but still reeking of sex, still pulling a good crowd, still living large, viable.

From the Archive: "Larry in Love," by Jennifer Moses

It never ceased to amaze him when grown women, women with husbands and children, acted like they were vestal virgins. His own sisters pulled that one on him all the time, or at least they had when they were still actually treating him like a human being, before he’d had to sell his house and business in Cape Cod and move in with friends.