What Happened to Humboldt and Marty Upon Arriving in New York City by Scott Navicky

Prose

Humboldt was in awe of the city’s BIGness. No, its vastness. No, its peopleness. The city was a big, vast peoplefarm. Nooo, its pigeonness! The city was a big, vast pigeonfarm! New York City: the peoplepigeoncity. As Humboldt watched, the city transformed itself into a gigantic, concrete birdcage full of peoplepigeons. These strange creatures spent their days foraging for food and desirable reproductive qualities, while continually defecating on each other.

French Vanilla, fiction by Donnie Boman

Prose

I'd known one other house that smelled like French vanilla coffee creamer. But this is the one that troubles me. Every house has a smell. But you can't smell your own house. You smell it, but it doesn't register. Garbage and roses and spoiled milk and curry and dirty diapers and bleach are smells in your house, but they aren't the house smell, which you don't know. If you think you know your house scent, you are mistaken.