A mistake at the deli gets me my mother’s coffee: ‘regular,’ normal once, in that time when sweet and light and regular were what life should be.
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A mistake at the deli gets me my mother’s coffee: ‘regular,’ normal once, in that time when sweet and light and regular were what life should be.
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Neal and Samuel walked along Geary, forcing their way through the throng of high school girls congregated outside of Burger King. They all wore uniforms and their starched shirts were all frayed and yellowed. “The kids from the snot school,” Neal said. “What?” “The kids from the snot school. It’s a line from Thomas...
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I. Cold spring puts green buds on gray branches all over the city. They open as it gets warmer and the babies appear. I swear this year I see more babies than ever before. Always when I wait in line the woman ahead of me holds a child over her shoulder, easy in her...
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Do plastic bags grow down from trees and fall onto the ground creating shards of glass to wither into concrete slabs of joy?
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It’s the stink of blood and chemicals, I think, as I bounce my knee impatiently on the thin brown carpet pulled tightly against the floor like the last remaining lifeboat in an impossible ocean of dirty, hidden linoleum. The blood is in tiny transparent tubes and is kept in oxygenless chambers and is used...
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I had sex with Billy Gervais last night. I have a Spanish quiz this afternoon. The future imperfect contains the whole, plus a suffix, the latter accentuated sufficiently to hold one’s attention to its closing syllable. I practice conjugating the future imperfect as I walk across campus and into the library. Bailaré, bailarás, bailará,...
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