https://soundcloud.com/americanshortfiction/the-cupcake-factory This is New Hampshire in winter, past midnight. The roads are clear, the houses dark, the sky a suffering orange-gray, fat with frost and the forecasted blizzard. In the distance, like the North Star, John Stapleton, Jr. can see the truck-stop sign hovering above I-95, Bob’s Big Boy spinning just above the tree line, offering up his empty tray. Stapleton’s sister Esther is driving. She tucks a greasy lock of hair behind her … [Read more...] about The Cupcake Factory