Bad Timing

Editor back-issues, poetry

A line outside the liberty bell, bars you can still smoke in, cyclists covered in tattoos; my five-foot-one sister playing dress-up in her brand-new, oversized Albert Einstein Hospital coat. Everyone gone, to the shore. (Fourth of July weekend.) Gray, cobblestone streets nearly empty, melting before dusk. It’s my last day here. A crowd gathering for the presidential motorcade Jolts me…

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