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  • The Paris Review

    Running into My Dead Mother at 7-Eleven

    by Jill Talbot Jun 19, 2019 1 minute

    I didn’t notice you at first, not even when I held the door open, but as you moved past me with a thank you, I glimpsed your cream macramé top, the one I almost kept when I I moved my cup quickly and let the pieces fall, pointed to them. , you said. . But ice is ice. I understood this, standing beside you.

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