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Twenty-seven disembodied entities, Mars on a dark night, the Night Stalker
By Our ReadersMay 1989My body is the temple. My marriage is the temple. My work is the temple. So sweep the temple. Worship in the temple. Don’t worship the temple.
By Sy SafranskyApril 1989A rhinestone butterfly pin, an appointment for next Saturday, “Louie Louie”
By Our ReadersMarch 1989Time passes and you learn that you overlooked a fairly simple and important ingredient. Yeast is necessary. The only time you’re definitely right is when it doesn’t matter. Failure and pain, twin stepping stones to knowledge.
By David KoteenJanuary 1989Earnest says he is going out for a drink. Becky knows that he knows she knows.
By Sharon ClayboughDecember 1988It was a perfect day, the sky clear, as blue and true as a pledge of love. On the campus, the magnolias were in bloom, the huge, creamy-white flowers richly fragrant. Spring was everywhere, shamelessly beautiful, wet lips laughing, hair unpinned.
By Sy SafranskyOctober 1988I was a child with a peculiar and passionate hunger for the peppermint in toothpicks when I went on a lion hunt with Opal Lavender, who was my favorite person and one of my own people.
By Susan HanklaSeptember 1988Phillip Fanno was playing with his food. He gave his pork chop a mashed potato beard and moustache, a julienned-carrot nose and mouth, and, not finding suitable eyes on his plate, cast about the table for them.
By Kay Levine SpencerSeptember 1988A left-hand turn; a dew-laced web; a piece of blue paper, folded once
By Our ReadersSeptember 1988Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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