Shirley Jackson used to be my best friend but even then I didn’t really like her because she was better than me at everything. She was prettier, for one thing, and even though neither of us wanted a boyfriend she could have
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We’re hanging in deep heatover the husk of old Abilene, a host of buzzard tourists in teal and tungsten anti-grav Wellingtons. The guide-track waxes wisein our sprouted earbuds: Through the last days,their abandoned missile silos filled with slant rain. The locals dove deep in those dark pools, came up
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it’s easier to clean up after a party of one. close the bag of doritos, turn off netflix, and it’s almost like it never happened. i long for the echo of laughter in my ears, for glitter still pressed on my body, for sweat that smells like someone else, for
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