Fiction | December 01, 2001
The After Man
Kris Lackey
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It will sound dead on like an infomercial when I confess the truth. That is because at the beginning — no, for ten years before the real start, when I actually dwindled — the cable hucksters spoke to me at all hours in their baby lisps and daddy nostrums and lover landishments until the world split into food and joy and I chose joy.
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