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Photo by Jason Briscoe on Unsplash

I do this thing where I pull out my dark gray underwear on important days. You might consider them my lucky underwear. I don’t know that it’s luck. It’s more like hope for better things. I don’t know why it’s the dark gray underwear and not the light gray underwear. Or the black underwear. Or better yet, the black underwear with the small, whimsical white polka dots. You would think that luck and whimsy would go well together. But I don’t know that it’s luck, so I don’t give into whimsy on those days I need the gods to smile…


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Photo by Jonas Jacobsson on Unsplash

I open a new book, and I immediately begin to fan through all the pages and listen to them snap away from each other. I watch the words go by in a blur like those movies I used to make on a pad of paper when I was a child. I’d hold the end of it with my thumb, the images moving as one, revealing an entire story one page at a time.

I open it in half, and then in thirds, and then in fifths, bending it open and stretching its rigid spine until it loosens up. I run…


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L.C. Hill

I feel sorry for the man who ends up as my cosmically chosen soulmate. It certainly wouldn’t be someone’s choice without the fates interfering.

I’m scatterbrained, I lose things. I don’t complete thoughts because I’m always on to the next one. No one ever understands what I’m trying to say anyway, so my voice trails off with a dismissive wave of my hand.

I love my dog more than I’ll ever love another human. I find humans rather disappointing.

I don’t put my dishes in the sink, and then not in the dishwasher, and then not in the cabinet. …


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Photo by Andrew Gook on Unsplash

Pedal. Pedal. Pedal. Pedal. Pedal.

My head hangs and I focus on the road no more than three feet in front of me. If I just make it three feet at a time, I’ll make it over and over again. I mistakenly look up at the half a mile ahead and discover it’s all uphill. It crosses my mind that I haven’t gone that far. I can turn around.

But there is no such thing as going back.

A few regrets pass through my mind. Why have I put this off for so long? What if I can’t make it…


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L.C. Hill

There’s a place in between peace and loneliness. I linger there. There is nothing unhappy about this place.

My dog hangs out there with me. We sit on the couch together. I drift off to sleep sometimes. So does he. More than I do. Often my foot is tucked near his. His eyes flutter open briefly as I wrap my toes around his tail. Then they close again.

There’s sunshine with occasional rain. Not thunderstorms. There’s just the patter of drops on the window air conditioner and a temporary darkening of the concrete. …


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7 a.m. is too early to get served alcohol at the airport. I order a drink at 6:47 and wait.

I rip a piece of bacon off the strip in my hand. The man across the bar watches me. He does not drop his eyes. I drop mine. I’m bored with men who won’t give me a moment’s peace just because I’m alone at the bar.

The hot sauce swirls with the eggs’ runny yolks, and I stab a potato with my fork. Another man watches me. A woman sits next to him. He says something to her, but she…

L.C. Hill

Memoir and poetry. Read more at www.lchillwriter.com.

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