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1913issue6online

142 Sleeping in New York, 1976 I’m at my first job and hung over. I’ve been watching clocks until lunch when I can recover myself, and let rest flush toxins through my pores. This is the courtyard for the building where I intern. I could give a fuck who sees me. I’m on the 33rd floor, I’ve been there all summer. I know this keg-from-the-carpet smell is my aura, but if you’re not too close my silhouette is still fine. This will be key to making it happen if it goes on. I’m all buttoned, my belt is well placed, and I’m pulling off the masculine glint in these shoes. I know the hold-it-together gestures; how tucking this hand between thighs highlights my hair dripping off the wall just enough. I’m in bounds. And if anyone is right, if it is all riding on this, then it truly is all good. -Susan Scarlata

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