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It?s Not Only in Texas That They Hold Em
Right now I am fresh from a nap and the time is dusk and there is nothing in my refrigerator but a quarter wedge of lemon and a spring roll. And it has—the spring, rolled back into the wall like a hide-a-bed, receded like Allen Ginsberg?s hairline, been capped and recapped. The time is nigh and the loss is fresh and the boss is not Who?s but—God knows, how. My cousin Carol had a poster of Bon Jovi hanging over her twin the first time I ever saw him and he looked dangerous in his sky blue tank top, inflammatory as a good sun going down. We listened with the same degree of enthusiasm my father expressed throwing torsos of wood onto a stump. He chopped and stacked them in the hoop to keep us warm come winter, smelling of chainsaw oil and locust dust. Are you being creative enough about happiness? Are the things you say true about yourself? When I came back from Disney World in sixth grade, my best friend had started a club at her mother?s beauty salon. All the other kids who walked to their parents? shops after school were in it, including the red head I crushed on who smelled like Dove. She never even gave me a chance to give her the Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt I knew she wanted. And I still know she wanted a Volkswagen Cabriolet, but not how the cards we were dealt would play out one hand at a time.
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03/09/12 5:15pm
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