I do this all the time, she said, pulling out a pair of rusty scissors from her skirt's thick black waistband.
She cut off her left thumb. Then her forefinger.
Then my right thumb.
Then my head.
Jan 1, 2015
Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)
some days I remember the lies you told me and i laugh at both of us at me, for wanting so badly to believe you at you, for having t...
To her daughter, sprawled on the floor with a stack of Google maps and sharpie, what are you doing dear? Looking for two way streets. W...
lucia berlin writes well. almost too well. her prose is descriptive, the imagery is fragrant, concrete, but repetitive. is all writing that ...
we were moving. it was a group effort. we had rented one of those big 18 wheeler trucks and used it to port everyone's things around. ev...
Post a Comment