Angel of Progress

Editor back-issues, fiction

You brought our freedom as a mirage in their parallax vision.  In that one brick wall shirt that you wore every day.  That spring noontime, in gym class, that we stood at the far end of the parking lot ballfield—you with your middle finger masking-taped to two popsicle sticks, splinted—and you urged me, with each change of batter, to retreat…

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