Beads Against The Glass by Ellen Weeren
She took out the beads: blood red, midnight blue, and fierce orange.
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I no longer harangue every desk nurse at every hospital for a taxonomic breakdown of her bills. I don’t ask for the numbers of the Benadryl, the water cups, the abdominal touches done with gloved hands. I am the most American I’ve ever been—she costs what she costs and I eat it.
She took out the beads: blood red, midnight blue, and fierce orange.
I’ll be the first corpse in the Rings of Saturn; at least that mark will be mine and not Sebald’s.
Good golf and poor theology had been Mike’s inheritance from his father.
You admire the raccoon and the ingenuity of its clever little human hands.
The last thing he wanted was to give explanations to this man who saw him only as a winning lottery ticket.