Middle American Literature

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Worked last night at the restaurant. Today I’m waiting on a text from Larry the carpenter. I’m going into his studio to tear down the ceiling, rip down more walls. Inhale plaster, drink the dust, step on nails, hammer my fingers, caulk my peehole.
Caleb Caudell
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In keeping with my history of prudent economic decisions, I spent the greater part of my first paycheck in a month on a plane ticket to New York City…
Caleb Caudell
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Driving down washington st. Four grimy lanes bordered by strip malls and government assisted housing. Crackwhores withering in the sun. Men with shifty…
Caleb Caudell
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Now that I’m not opening a café, my mornings start slowly. Not stumbling out the door at 5 with crust in my eyes. A fantasy life, impossible to…
Caleb Caudell
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The beauty of some days precludes all effort, all action. On sunday I needed to clean, do laundry before a trip to Detroit. Nothing happened in the…
Caleb Caudell
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The morning was cool and gray and then it rained. After writing and smoking cigarettes and starting a substack I took a nap. When I woke up the rain had…
Caleb Caudell
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I lost my job. The café job, both spots, the one in the trendy neighborhood and the one downtown by the convention center. Last week I worked during the…
Caleb Caudell
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This is Middle American Literature, a newsletter about autofiction from the midwest.
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