The Straw


Photograph by Tom Haynes

Dear Potential Date,

I will let you know how I feel at all times. I’m very up front. I’m attracted to naturally red, full lips. No lipstick, please. I also prefer real beauty. I’m very picky when it comes to looks. If you’re older than thirty, please don’t reply.

I’m not the kind to call back right away. If we have a good time, I’ll let you know, but I’m not into that whole clingy thing. My idea of a perfect date is hanging out in bars that serve Belgian beer in a glass. No bottles for me. If you’re too cheap to buy your own drinks, please, don’t respond to this ad.

I’m looking for a carefree type. Not the kind that’s going to hold me down. Not the kind that’s going to get mad every time I’m with another. I can’t be tied down right now. I prefer more of the Bohemian lifestyle.

In short, shoot me an email if you don’t suck. (I already do that well enough on my own)

– The Straw

The Plant



Photograph by Greer Oharah


I used to live underground. Disconnected from sunlight like a used up pre-paid cell phone. I tried to call out, but no one could hear me. I panicked. I stretched. I clawed my way out. When there was rain, I was pushed back. When there were beasts, I protested. When I sprouted, I kissed the sun. Forever warming to her love that I needed so badly and yet couldn’t help resent, I flooded her with questions.

“Where have you been?” I gasped. “You couldn’t find me in my darkest corner.”

“I always knew where you were,” the sun said. “I just couldn’t get to you.”

“But why?”

“Because,” said the sun. “You had to come to me.”