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My Wobbly Bicycle, 160

Posted by on Nov 28, 2018 in Featured | 11 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 160

On the seat in front of me on the plane, a young woman is splaying her fingers to admire again her long pointed nails, sparkly blue claws. We should have trimmed Wally’s claws before we left, I think. When we rolled our bags out the door at six in the morning, he was sitting perfectly still, forlorn, I might imagine, eyes large, knowing it was useless to try to follow. This had happened before, he knew, all to no good.   Travel is like a dream. You see where you are, but you are also back there, where you left. You travel through the years, too, but you are also back there, in that...

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