by Cole Beauchamp Jan Kopřiva Shauna has had one too many evenings with the cobalt blue de Gournay wallpaper, the glowing chandelier, the polite clink of silverware. She leaps up. Let’s go skinny dipping! And out she charges, into the soft Tennessee night. Voices titter behind her. Good, they’re following. She kicks off her sling backs, sinks her toes into dewy grass as she disrobes. Faux fur stole, purple sequin cocktail dress, thong, Vanity Fair Full Figure Beauty Back Smoo

by Cole Beauchamp Zdeněk Macháček At the school gate, your mother lifts her narrow snout and scents trouble. Together you walk past the glossy moms flicking the sky with their shellacked nails, air kissing their daughters. As you pass there’s a collective intake of breath, low mutterings. Don’t do it, don’t do it, you chant under your breath. She does it anyway. Your mother passes in a flat-footed huff, baring her yellowed teeth at them. The circle tightens as they close rank