The First Sign of Holes
Lucas Southworth

Your jeans predict the future, I said. If you ever have holes in them then there must be holes in everything. Your clothes foretell the apocalypse, zombie or otherwise. Your knees predict the absence of birds, the naked forest, the silence that comes before the silence. As I said this, I was picking at your denim with my thumbnail. You slapped my hand away with your hand.

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