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The dead.

dead

My mother photographs dead people for her scrapbook.  Scrapbooks I should say.  There are many.  Each one’s labeled with a volume number and the dates it covers.  Each picture has a label that’s been printed and cut into a tiny fortune-cookie-type strip that says “Thanksgiving 2004,” or “Jim’s Graduation,” or “Julie’s first car.”    They […]

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King of the road.

bicycle

Wow.  I am impressed.  The rippling muscles, the sweat, the spandex.    You can wear that kind of thing.   You make that helmet look good.   You’re a picture of health.    But if you don’t move that fucking bicycle off the road, I will run you over. This is a highway.  It is not a bike trail.  It is not the YMCA.   It’s a […]

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