My Friend the Scholar Comes at Last to Attend His Father
Norbert Hirschhorn He considered the wasted moult of a once large, ferocious creature: mouth agape, muscles twitching with every rattled breath. Agapé–my friend the scholar marveled at the homograph, and the thing that feasted on his father. He laid a futon at the foot of the high white bed, some books, a laptop, a thermos. […]
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