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We don’t do it for the fish. We come out when our wives have had enough of us, reliably once a month, sometimes more often if we poke the right buttons. Read the rest of this entry »
He wanders past the boarded-up businesses in town with a look of guilty surprise, as if he’d been tapped on the shoulder while spying on something he shouldn’t have seen, startled behind binoculars, and never bounced back from the shock. Read the rest of this entry »
If ghosts could kill themselves, they would. I have it on good authority. They long to be here or there. Neither body nor yet pure light, they are shadows on the houses they lived in. Read the rest of this entry »