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Dear Wigleaf:
It's dark out here in the Middle of Nowhere, and hot as hell, too, the best
weather for skinny-dipping in the big lake. The stars hang low and heavy,
ripe fruit in a black bowl of sky. I skinny-dipped once with a guy who asked
me: What happens when they fall off on us? He was the last to take
his pants off, the last to jump in the lake. I remember he swam head-up like
a dog and coughed water, a pot smoker's wet hack.
I wish for the stars to fall, I wish on the ones that fall. I wish I could
tether the sky to the horizon, stake it down snug so we could all sleep a
little safer.
Love,
Sarah
- - -
Read SF's story.
W i g l e a f
10-06-20
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