You were baking shrimp. It was evening in Brooklyn in late October. Yellow leaves were falling off of trees and smacking the bay window. Your mother had just died. Pete was gone, too; had been gone. The oven dinged. You checked your
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We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us… ~Gene Wolfe I wasn’t afraid when I first saw you— I just felt bad, thinking you must have the worst real estate agent in history to end up wedged
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