“He flourished the tickets last Saturday…You were stepping out of your slip-ons. The daycare was a mess; the babies had passed around a cold and their whines stuck in your head, like the shadows bodies leave on walls after explosions.”
Prose, Poetry, and Art since 1956
“He flourished the tickets last Saturday…You were stepping out of your slip-ons. The daycare was a mess; the babies had passed around a cold and their whines stuck in your head, like the shadows bodies leave on walls after explosions.”