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The black aspirant of theatre
engages the barista like this,
line twitching out the door.

Can—I have.” Her arms go
swan. “A large.” She whispers
close to his face: “Coffee.”

 


M. A. ISTVAN JR., good-looking despite the crookedness and skull protuberances of a criminal, is full of dissimulation and never looks people in the eye. He stands apart from others mainly from a fear of being found out. Istvan survives by poaching burl and—there is no help for it—by government assistance.

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