He spent a hundred dollars on boulevardiers then loaned me a pair of Army shorts. I bled between dreams of unwashed nights to the bells of children’s hymns. No appetite for anything but our floating heartbeats, Ginny and I quit teaching to be midnight bandits, tag boys from the snow to scarlet their shirts. “Too much tongue,” the coroner said. The time had come to eat all the chips. I borrowed a white bikini to plunge into St. Lawrence. Steam trailed us up the stairs, strangers clapped in fluffy robes. ...Read More
Author: Eileen G'Sell
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