Number 5, April 1998 IN THIS ISSUE... Reap by Jon Soverow Princeton Haikus by Matt Gordon Sunday Brunch by Jenny Yue Road to Spartanburg by Richard Johnston Sympathy for the Devil by Bryan Walsh

SUNDAY BRUNCH "Today is Sunday, November 23, 1997," he said. "I am here with Nancy, Eric, Nathan in this fine restaurant on a beautiful afternoon." You can hear his eyes pausing at each place setting, gray fog settling in. The man, in wrinkles and brown tweed, does not sit at the head of the table. Eric and Nathan, boys who chose waffles and strawberries over mussels and calamari fidget when the waitress arrives. "Regular, please," he says, and she pours him coffee. Nancy is nodding, fists fititng a deeply clefted chin. A white tape recorder centerpieces the table, red light catching glasses clinking, voices from behind a vented door. He has hidden it in between salt and pepper shakers, spilled maple syrup on starched white. Nancy is at the head of the table while he sits facing the two boys, the other end empty with a folded napkin. The waitress has become uneasy, noticed the little red light and stutters when she recites the day's specials. She likes to listen to customers' conversations, ridicules them behind the door when they leave her a small tip. But this table has begun listening back. She's rushing with their food. And he keeps talking, eyeing Eric and Nathan and Nancy and never again includes the restaurant, the weather, the day. Somehow he's eating his mussels and offers them to the boys without a mark on the tape. He's talking steadily as if to foreign exchange students, and Eric and Nathan are squirming in their seats while Nancy is nodding, always nodding, and the waitress is listening despite herself. --Jenny Yue