Thursday, May 19, 2011


“Wait a sec,” said Dove, “It’s not like we’ve been serious. We’ve just been hanging out.”
     “Hanging out,” Swan muttered. Or something like it; she was tearing out one of her pinfeathers with her beak.
     “I’m dealing with a lot. It wouldn’t be fair. To you.”
     “Fair to me would be you go fuck yourself.”
     Dove felt humbled by her certainty that between a mutual loathing of the yard’s corn-Thursdays and a mutual weakness for Depeche Mode lay the makings of a life together. A vista opened up… “I’m no longer sure,” he sighed. “Of anything.”
     “Oh, I am,” said Swan.

The sequel to this story is True.

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