Some time after I had begun to read the human books, we had a tome come through that was the size of my palm and three pages long, with just two sentences written on each […]
The first morning without Lobster is glorious, at first. After months buried beneath barking, Sunday sounds like itself again. I sleep. Then, instead of continued silence, instead of barking, I hear frantic cries, like self-propelled […]
Cadaverine Magazine is looking for a creative, committed individual with an ear for great storytelling and an eye for delicious prose to join their team as Prose Editor. Cadaverine is a non-profit online magazine […]
Those are my own legs that are making the sand beneath rise in a muddy cloud around my shins and that’s my own team of rings spreading all kindly around me and welcoming me into the world of water, and my giant feet which I can no longer see that are making these tiny fish dash away in fear.
We both order the steak; his theatrically blue, mine unfashionably well-done because if I had the taste for raw muscle I would not be marrying somebody with biceps like limp cow pats. I would be marrying a fruity god with arms like ripe nectarines.
The wife slowly and cautiously bends down and begins sorting through the papers, one by one. They are letters.
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