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The Last Fly of Summer


by Carl Santoro


a bright, humid morning.

New York City.

a CHILD's pancake restaurant.

i'm sitting on a

revolving stool

by the counter

waiting for my order.

leafing through the

SEBRING 100 WALLAMATIC

record selector

and just as my omelette

is place into my tie-

there he is-

lying stale, crushed,

frozen in time between

GEORGY GIRL and HARD DAY'S NIGHT.

embarrassing, i think.

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