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**PRINT: A GAME I ONCE ENJOYED, by Chicago's Patrick Somerville, is THE2NDHANDís 32nd broadsheet. Somerville's work previously appeared in No.24 in 2007, and this Somervilleís second broadsheet since the release of his short-story collection, Trouble, in 2006 marks the first since his novel The Cradle launched into the cultural imagination with coverage in the form of reviews in places as high as the New York Times Book Review. Donít let that turn you off, though; Somervilleís work is viscerally humorous and elegantly dramatic as the best out there, as evidenced in this epic story, about a chess game whose stakes might well be higher than its players know. Also in this issue: a short from Ohio scribe Daniel Gallik.

**WEB: THE CROW'S NEST Peter Richter
WING & FLY: NERVIER THAN THOU? The Broad Set Writing Collective | Todd Dills
THE SUMMER OF KRISTA MENDEZ Chuckie Campbell
LIVING COLOR Stephanie Friedman
GOOD FORTUNE Thomas Mundt
THE BITTER REDS Philip Brunetti
An excerpt from the novel HEARTLESS Eric Durchholz
HIDEOUS BOUNTY: THE BOUNTY | Andrew Davis
LIGHT LIKE PALM SPRINGS or EXTRAORDINARY RENDITION Pitchfork Battalion
MR. C.I.A. Gretchen A. Van Lente

THE CROW'S NEST
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Peter Richter

Richter is the New Jersey-based editor of the Broad Set Writing Collective's publications; visit him here.

A jogger, all spandex, sweatband and fists, toed off beyond the broken deli parking lot, up a hill and somewhere left.

Bohemian Pupil Press, Chicago publishers of the South Side Trilogy

At the top of Al and Tipper Gore's lofty bed, Tipper was pissed -- "Albert. You should have helped redecorate if you were going to hate it."

Below, a Sunoco gas attendant was asleep in a plastic armchair. Fluorescents washed out the tangerine dawn and the man burrowed into his neck fat and stubble.

Al laid there, looking down on everything in his digital pajamas. "So... how do we get down?"

Inside some deli, a thin rectangle of light entered through the glass doors and reflected off everything metal. One or two loud workers slipped by clapping trays together or balancing stacks of bagels on their fingers. The grill jingled as airy bells of scrambled eggs popped.

Tipper nestled into Al's linens. He looked at her and caught a glimpse of her nipple.
He looked away
looked back
and looked away.

The parking lot filled. The ones who had time sat and played their forks and plates, stopping only to spoon their Earl Grey or talk about the environment.

Tipper's nipple was still exposed.
She leaned in for a kiss,
and felt Al's erection against her thigh.
Al turned away into the margins of their bed and stared out from their crow's nest.

FAQ: THE WAL-MART DISEASE

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