In her youth she had been an unfortunate adorer of crisis. She preferred boys who would lie down on her dirty kitchen floor in protest when she demanded that they go home, temper tantrum boys, little upstream swimming fishes. On clear evenings she walked to the grocery store arm-in-arm with these boys and spent split seconds hoping passing cars would run into them. Not to kill, but wound. She used to enjoy considering the prospect of hospitals. (ms)
May 10, 2008...5:13 pm
twenty
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