My Painting of Me by Adam Berlin
“I didn’t wrap it well,” she said. She was right. She hadn’t. The edges were off, the tape sloppy, the paper paper-bag brown.
“I didn’t wrap it well,” she said. She was right. She hadn’t. The edges were off, the tape sloppy, the paper paper-bag brown.
Millhouse awoke when the page dropped on him. It was the third time and he got up and dove escaping the next crushing page.
I wanted chocolate chip cookies, so I made a batch with extra chocolate chips then passed off my indulgence as a gesture of love for my wife and kids.
Children laugh, shout, “Haw, Fur Coat! That you away to the opera, aye?”
The scan confirms what I already suspect: my organs are in the wrong place. The doctor shakes her head at the computer screen.