First published in New York Tyrant, April 6, 2018. Copyright 2018 by Tetman Callis.
He walks every morning to the Evanston outhouse. There he turns and walks back.
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He spends every night sipping bitter tea from tiny white cups. A woman who never grows old sits with him. Together they fend off meaning and sleep.
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The fog is heavy over the lake. Gulls scream. Water drips from the sky.