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tpr20 fiction

Black on White

Brian Howell

Karen and I have come back here to correct an error from that first occasion, of which there is no record, except the brittle one of memory. I can remember her look of disappointment, not anger, the expression that said, This makes me unhappy.

Caving

Stephen F. Anderson

“Tell me one thing,” Maisie blurts. “If you could know all you know now, say, when you were fifteen and listening to obscure new-wave bands or whatever you do in the suburbs, daydreaming about hanging yourself, would you have, I don’t know, gone out for sports instead?”

Sixteen Roads to El Dorado

Michael Behrens

I was waiting for a bus when the old man told me he knew the way to El Dorado.

Where to Go

David McGrath

DuPree did not feel a need to take his gun, which he left on the kitchen table. After all, he was just going for a walk.

The moment he could have

David Alexander McFarland

For no reason he could later remember he looked up when an anonymous girl passed through his field of vision; she looked familiar, too much so, but he could not place her in the panorama of girls he knew who were somewhere near his daughter’s age

David Hockney re Edouard Manet …

Anna Sidak

I’ve a silly little question about the pool but it can wait until later. I’m starting the interview with a question regarding an 1863 Edouard Manet painting in which two fully clothed young men lounge on the grass in the company of a naked woman.

The Crown Upon His Head

Steven Gillis

My father, Aaron Pitchmore, once swam the length of Lake Katobi—a distance of nearly one mile—stripped down to his boxers, in late fall when the water had chilled and all the catamarans, sunfish and canoes were docked for winter.