Idaho | The Common

An Exercise in Loneliness

July 29, 2026 Dispatches

Photo courtesy of the author.

Boise, Idaho

It is late afternoon, and the June sun flirts with descent like a nervous pool diver. The foothills to my back are sprayed white-gold, as is Riverstone, my old K-12 school just across the cheatgrass field to my right. Its concrete panel walls and sawtoothed roof are a familiar reminder of years subjected to exam booklets and wormish spaghetti. From above, Riverstone looks like a proud X, and since I graduated two years ago, that is the only angle I have witnessed it from. I catch it for fleeting seconds before my plane plunges into the clouds, destined for college 3,000 miles east.

Dispatch from Moscow

November 13, 2024 Dispatches

By AFTON MONTGOMERY

Photos courtesy of author.

Moscow, ID

One day, across the street from the gay coffee shop, a toddler in a blue t-shirt cocked a pistol at me. Silver glinted in October sun. He clicked the trigger, Dad and Mom looking on. Got her is what the kid said to Dad, a man closer to seven feet tall than six.

Only when I passed them in the crosswalk did I see the orange plastic that covered the gun’s tip: a toy. Dad ruffled the boy’s hair. I buried myself in my cell phone.

not equal to ≄

October 14, 2024 Fiction

By AYOTOLA TEHINGBOLA

Story selected from Lagos Will Be Hard for You, a finalist for the Restless Books Prize for New Immigrant Writing 2024.

There was a statue of the real Jack Daniels in the corner, or so the plaque read, but Jonathan swore that it looked more like one of the U.S. presidents: hat, beard, suit, presence, pose. It had a rainbow flag affixed to its shoulder, so Lotanna, or Lottie as she had come to be called in America, went with the Jack Daniels claim.

It was New Year’s Eve and they were on their third date. 10th Street Station was a basement bar and Lotanna decided she liked it as soon as she stepped in. The walls boasted of old autographed Hollywood posters and portraits, number plates proud of the Land of Potatoes, and when Lotanna found drawings on one of the high beams she thought it must have been by someone who cared a lot about this place but was shy of their talent. It was all mismatched in shape, color, and size. Nothing belonged. Like her. They ordered glasses of IPA and sat near the heater, and she kept glancing at her phone, waiting for the new year to ring so she could go home to her basement apartment.

“Hey. You okay?” Jonathan asked, nudging her lightly.

Dispatch from Moscow, Idaho

February 15, 2023 Dispatches

By AFTON MONTGOMERY

Moscow, ID

The neighbor children are in the Evangelical cult that Vice and The Guardian wrote about last year. They’re not allowed to speak to us, which is a thing no one has ever said aloud but is true, nonetheless. This town is full of true things that no one says aloud because we can’t or wouldn’t dare or because no one would believe us anyway.

Marilynne Robinson, I think, or maybe Ruth Ozeki, wrote something about how the wheat here is green before it’s yellow and everyone from elsewhere gets to selectively forget that and picture us golden and glowing year-round.

Continental Divide

August 12, 2015 Dispatches

By JAMES ALAN GILL

We decided we’d stop for the night in Denver while eating at a Taco Johns in North Platte, Nebraska, and scanned the Expedia app on my phone. There was a 4-star hotel in the suburbs northwest of the city on sale for 86 bucks, so I reserved a room because it was the same price as the Best Western.

All posts tagged: Idaho

An Exercise in Loneliness

Dispatch from Moscow

not equal to ≄

Dispatch from Moscow, Idaho

Continental Divide

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