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71 They Couldn’t Even Kill Their Television When you asked me to marry, all you gave was a cell phone ring. Well, honey, you know I’m off the grid, like that couple we knew with zero percent body fat, living on the desert, near the border crossing at Agua Prieta. But I don’t have a Prince Albert piercing, or corked earlobes. My hair will not bind if I don’t wash it. So, no, I don’t want to be sequestered to the new age dream you were somehow taught by your mother, from her North Idaho fortress, with a fence around the garden, and never enough split wood in the shed. Sometimes I think of your poor stepfather running up and down the carpeted stairs at every one of his commercial breaks, with socks on his feet at all times, to hide his fungal toenails. And his teeth had gone feral, and his eyes turned laser blue. ...

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