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35 The Little Girl from Outer Space To Lady Wonton Bianca—a racehorse who never won a thing—was born a half-lame quarter horse with a horn. Nothing special. Nothing special but a half-lame quarter horse with a horn we love to feed apples to and call Silver Queen and Your Majesty because she is fine to look at and limps like magic that is worn down a little and broken which is what we are I guess and that is enough. That is enough to live by a while which is how it came to pass that my friend walked through the dusty sunlight of 3 p.m. in the cabinet shop today with liquor on his breath and sawdust flecked in his beard and half of a finger chopped off from long ago and wired with a native joy that gallops inside him he grabbed two pieces of carved maple meant for a chair and stood between them as if they were two golden scepters and said in a high falsetto the dogs could hear I am just a little girl from outer space! 36 and danced a little shuffle standing in place for the meaning of life must be spoken sometimes with a perfect straightness of the face. It is nothing. It is nothing. It will always be nothing. Dumb-luck whiskey wonder and grace. ...

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