"She sits on a bench in front of a playground. She’s peeling an orange. She’s peeling this orange so goddamn perfectly. She slips her thumbnail under the top cap of the orange right where Antartica would be if the orange were a globe and then starts this grand little spiral downward. She doesn’t throw little sinewy tears of peel to the grass, no, she peels the orange in one long curly strip. A long curly strip that you could roll back into the shape of an orange. You could roll it back into the shape of an orange and put it in a bowl with other real oranges and fool somebody. This orange is empty."
— 9/7/2010 New Fiction, Jessica Jenkins
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catsashes posted this
The Great Poetic Testing of Hypotheses. It's a big red bow of ticker tape. You can see humanity in its eyes as you approach it with your overlarge scissors at the grand reopening of "I was just taking a personal call in a goddamn phone booth and the motherfucker just shot me in the head." In some weeks and months and days you will find that, indeed, you are dead. I am Jess. I am an English Creative Writing Student at the University of Iowa. Ask me stuff. Be interested, be interesting.
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