Nonfiction | October 30, 2018

I skimmed the first two paragraphs of the fine print, then skipped the rest to sign at the bottom. The contract got me a membership in the gym and a black duffel bag I didn’t need but a few sessions with a trainer that I did. After the measuring and weighing, we toured the place, ending upstairs in front of a machine sprouting pulleys and cables. He squatted to pull a pin, briefly waving it before my knees, then settled on a weight that I self-consciously noted wasn’t far from the bottom.

If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.