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Illustrated Writing

the broken one

he lines his cars along the quilt. one red, one blue, one missing a wheel and nudges them forward in soft little bumps so they climb the hill of her knees

gridlock

He touched down on a Tuesday afternoon in the middle of downtown’s gridlock gospel. Small wings. White sneakers. Pink hoodie with a cheap satin sheen. The bow was gone.

i shot an angel

I shot an angel with my father’s rifle.

the oldest profession

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