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Lucky

On the first day I was alive, Michael Jackson held me. I remember every second of it. Santa Monica Hospital, October second, a Sunday. I…

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From Marisol Moves In: Marisol Arranges Her Bedroom

Yes, Marisol writes poetry, and no, you can’t fucking read it. She glares at you over a mountain of hoodies. Stop asking so many questions,…

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From Marisol Moves In: Marisol Finagles a Soda

Some scientists did this study where they let rats have all the cocaine they wanted, only half the rats had access to sugar water and…

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It Goes from There

“Ruby,” he says. “You are a goner,” he says. Only he says it this way, “It is between the brainstem and the cerebellum.” He holds…

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I Think He Might

When my sister’s husband and I get drunk, we get grandiose about Texas. We’re drinking Lone Star Light tallboys, even though I’m ditching gluten and…

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