Post- Magazine
hostel-hoppers [narrative]
By Damian Wasilewicz | March 17It was not long after we met Valentina that we learned about the Coldplay dollar.
Post- Magazine Narrative
Post- Magazine
identity theft [narrative]
By Sophie Pollack-Milgate | March 16We are born into clumsy bodies. We flail around with fat fingers as we learn to make sense of the fuzzy shapes around us, and to assert important truths like “ba” and “ga.” As we grow, we are given a fuller set of words to wrap our hands around, including words that are supposed to describe ...
Post- Magazine
i don't want want a souvenir from puerto rico [narrative]
By Nélari Figueroa Torres | March 15note: contains version translated into Spanish at the end.
Post- Magazine
and the eyes are hers [narrative]
By Mack Ford | March 5When the lights come on, there is a single spotlight, trained on the center of the stage. The actress is there, basking, lounging in the glow. Her legs dangle off the edge of the piano, willfully uncrossed. Her hair is piled high atop her head into a mount of carefully aligned curls. She wears a fitted ...
Post- Magazine
new leaves despite it all [narrative]
By Liza Kolbasov | March 2There are the ones I left in a drafty room over a frigid New England December, only to come back from sun-baked California to their slouching, frozen corpses. The countless overwatered succulents, the root-bound vines, the pothos I just couldn’t make happy. The ones left forgotten, unwatered on my ...
Post- Magazine
the perfect going out top [narrative]
By Jeanine Kim | February 23Mysterious and alluring, it is one of the rarest creatures in the world. Only spotted on the most unlikely of nights, it constantly evades capture at the last minute, coming tantalizingly close before dancing away once again. Despite its slippery nature, it entraps the world's attention as its ...
Post- Magazine
white noise [narrative]
By Sophie Pollack-Milgate | February 23Maybe I’m sitting at the dinner table, feeling the warmth of the tea mug and the crumbs on the tablecloth. My brother might be beside me, still eating—methodical as a surgeon. My mother is probably ribbing him for sleeping until the afternoon, and between bites, he defends himself: “It took ...
