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Drinking from a Puddle Denise says she can’t recall one decent fuck from the five years of her first marriage and this wine isn’t dry enough either. When she finally goes to the bathroom, the second husband whispers it’s Laura’s birthday and she’s probably in India now. This morning I woke thinking about purity again. If I could get the loan and that place on the hill in Berkeley, each morning I’d go out on the deck in muddy sandals left by the door and look for rattlesnakes slow in the fog. Maybe pick one up. My pure life. Always about to begin. Then I remembered Duke Sapp moving everything I owned in his pickup when we were students, one load, three trips up two flights to the room by the carillon, how I’d never lock it because I kept losing the key and one night his girlfriend, drunk, waiting for me in nothing but my only good white shirt. 74 ...

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