2002-08-14 || 9:00 a.m.

|| wallace, idaho ||

we fell out of a jc penney catalog circa 1963. we were paper dolls cut with pinking shears. we walked parallel and perpendicular, trying our best at circles but ending up in squares, folding our cardboard knees and wincing at the creases. there were alleys suspended in sunlight and brothels tucked between candy stores and taxidermy shops. storefronts fashioned out of cardboard and stained glass and the leathery faces of old cowboys. we snapped pictures to catch the desperation of bricks and masonry, our paper smiles snagged and straight painted in with black ink.

in a pub haunted by the dusty busts of elk and buffalo (the eyes are piercing, realistic, yet made of glass. the fur is matted and well-acquainted with spilled beer in the afterlife) men in hunting caps stared at our outlines and fingered the guns they kept under their tables.

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