On the last day of the trial, I suddenly remember a dream in which a voice told me the meaning of life.
She wanted to penetrate the shells in the way doctors would when performing a procedure on her.
We were going to meet every Sunday after church service, Christians and sinners alike till we got the job done.
I’d pull back the curtains and stare at the headstones in jagged rows beside a vacant hot dog factory.
I couldn't say it—the word on the screen. The only word I could repeat was it, it, it.
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