After Dinner Conversation: Philosophy

This magazine publishes fictional stories that explore ethical and philosophical questions in an informal manner. The purpose of these stories is to generate thoughtful discussion in an openand easily accessible manner. Names, characters, businesses,

A million years ago, before the internet and before YouTube, I came across the late-night comedian/magician The Amazing Johnathan. As part of his routine, he tears up anaudience member’s twentydollar bill and tries to magic it back together while hid

“Hey, Evan, you missed all the excitement Saturday night.” Connor McKee stood at the opening to Evan Moore’s cubicle, making faces at the mug ofbitter agency coffee in his hand. “I can’t believe you didn’t show!” Evan didn’t look up from his monitor.

Tuesday, she made him a drink. He was seated in the armchair. It was 7:02 p.m. Dinner had been served at 6:00 p.m., after which the kitchen was so thoroughly cleanedthat not even a single crumb remained. He had not spoken to her during or after the m

As I exited the polling station, the misty drizzle clung to my face, triggering a slight shiver. Given the sacredness of the day, this emphasis, the punctuation to the moment was welcome. Like last decade’s election, I wanted to remember every detail

“你好, Fu 先生. Welcome back,” Libby said, firmly shaking her customer’s hand. “Libby 小姐,” Mr. Fu replied crisply, taking a seat in Libby’s brightly lit, pastel-colored office. Two bald, grim-faced men wearing mirrored sunglasses tookup positions by the

So I have been allotted months of futility, and nights of misery have been assigned. Job 7:3 January, 2007—New Orleans The Reverend Clarence Washington, senior pastor fornearly forty years at Gethsemane Baptist Church, shifted his three-hundred-pound

The floor of the room was white, but three of the walls and the ceiling were light blue. His own bland pajamas were light green. It was probably supposed to be calming, but it only angered Rats. He knew what this was—a fregging brainwashing facility,

“Praising what is lostMakes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither;We are reconciled, and the first view shall killAll repetition: let him not ask our pardon;The nature of his great offence is dead,And deeper than oblivion we do buryThe incensin

Bob Beach’s stories have appeared in more than a dozen publications, including The Saturday Evening Post, The Woven Tale Press, and The Penmen Review. He spent many years as a writer and designer for print and film in advertising and enjoyed abrief c

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