CafeLitMagazine

      It was at least the fifth time I had been to Target in as many days. The woman bagging my groceries smiled. Her name tag said Tina. I ...

  As I put my hand into my pocket I can feel the paper there. They must not see that. If they read the note all will be lost. My mistress wi...

  There’s something in a train whistle that haunts night. An ache. A sense of loss. A lingering lament. Some nights that lament brought Ca...

  Morag grabbed her purse and a coat from the rack by the door. She pushed her feet into the nearest pair of shoes and marched out from he...