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.

            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.

            The fog is heavy over the lake. Gulls scream. Water drips from the sky.