Fear of Infamy

by Joanna Gorman


The right side of my face was swollen. I was convinced that my jaw was dislocated but the fact that I could talk still (I did tell the military cop that he was a pussy for hitting a handcuffed woman) just meant that I'd need an ice pack, which they didn't give me at the police station. Fair enough. My wrists were handcuffed and attached by a long chain to my ankles. I was unceremoniously dumped on a hard bench next to a Marine who smelled of booze, vomit, and cigarettes. We were both handcuffed to the bench. I watched him look me up and down. He leaned over and breathing fumes on me, he asked, “Whatcha here for, darlin'?”

I smiled sweetly at him. “Espionage. You?”


Non-Fiction

Budget Press Home