REFLEX FICTION
JANUARY 2023
We lurch out of Larissa on the 9:22 before freeing the eggs, one by one. It starts as a dare, a rebuke of our hostess who packed us a hard-boiled twelve, but too little cake. The cake smells of zest, warms the bag and our hands, and though we try to ration it, we fail…
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D.B. Miller 