by Ann Bogle
I returned to Minnesota from Montreal a week ago to realize that my sweetheart in Manhattan had hired a Ukrainian escort, a young woman he said on second reference was Russian. No name, he said, she didn't have one. She did have two small white dogs. She returned to his apartment again and again, carrying the dogs. Once, she flooded the bathroom. He said shit swirled in one of the closets.
As if my shit had ever swirled in a closet, as if that were my role.
“I need to visit,” I said straightly. "What about the Russian mob?"
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102 words
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100 words
Forthcoming in Thrice Fiction, 2011.
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Amazing amount of character revealed in such a small space, Ann. As in - "As if my shit had ever swirled in a closet, as if that were my role." Nice. I like the ending as well.
Funny!
As if that were my role.
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Just walks the line of magical realism for me--I like it.
What a contaminating image, her shit swirling in a closet. Worse than the Russian mob.
Glo, didn't remember you had written that. I wrote to DOJ about her after the advice of a lawyer friend. Nothing came of it. Except later Eric Hodder was fired.