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The Fluorescent Mirror

August twenty-eighth. There is a specific kind of tired that is not dramatic, it is just the tired of a Thursday, or a Thursday that felt like a Monday, and you are standing in fr…

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The Night Simone Registered First

August seventeenth. Simone told me the night before. That is the part I keep returning to. I had been writing a draft-folder sentence about the framing shop for months, standing o…

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The Second Print

August sixth. The second time is different in a specific way I didn't expect: you already know where to put your hands. You already know the smell of the ink and the sound the bra…

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The Thursday It Actually Happened

July twenty-sixth. I registered. That was one thing. Then I went, which turned out to be a separate thing entirely, and I want to be precise about the gap between them because the…

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Gerald Gets the Frame

July fifteenth. The framing shop printmaking night is still in the draft folder. It has been there since May. I am at peace with this. What I am not at peace with is the fact that…

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What the Draft Folder Decided

July fourth. The framing shop printmaking night has been in the draft folder for seven weeks. I want to name that plainly, because the sentence has been patient enough to deserve…

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The Machine Had Other Plans

June twenty-third. The vending machine dispensed the wrong thing. I want to state that plainly before I explain anything else, because the sequence of events only makes sense if y…

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The Looking Was the Visit

June twelfth. The draft-folder sentence has been there for almost three weeks now. It says: 'the framing shop, standing outside it, now apparently also inside it on a Thursday.' I…

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The Jar Had a Point

June first. The jar was not going to open. I want to be clear about this: I tried the twist, I tried the hot water on the lid, I tried the rubber grip pad that lives in the second…

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The Fluorescent Hours

May twenty-first. There is a particular quality to a Sunday afternoon in a laundromat, the light, first of all, which is the color of mild institutional defeat, and then the chair…

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