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House of Wigs

The sky was low. His head was a vase of sorrows he wanted to fill with blossoms. He stepped into the House of Wigs. The saleslady said, “Try this one on. It’s called the Mind of Fire. It turns ashes into flame. Prometheus was wearing it, they say, when he was punished by the Gods…

Reunion

And shall we describe the beautiful bike? It was a beautiful color the beautiful bike. What ever happened to the beautiful bike? The beautiful bike rode off into the beautiful sunset. Not by itself, surely. Who was pedaling the beautiful bike? You, you were the one pedaling the beautiful bike last seen disappearing into the…

Algeline

She steps up and out and stands in her yard. Ice crackling the mud and hoarfrost burning off the tall grass left unscythed beneath the trees. She bends and puts a finger to the ice, bends farther over and sniffs at it. Now here come the crows. Cawing and settling on the ridge line of…

About Jean Thompson

As a child—“I mean really little,” Jean Thompson says, “teething and waking up at night crying”—her sleep-deprived parents put a stack of graham crackers in one corner of her crib and a stack of Little Golden Books in the other. “Whenever I woke up with sore gums, instead of screaming, I’d find my books and…

Paradise Cove

The beach house in Bodega Bay was supposed to be our escape, but it was just another place for us to be uncomfortable together. Every summer, we used to spend a couple weeks there. My father drove us in his coral car, a BMW sedan so glossy it was almost as if it wasn’t there;…