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This was during one of the fat periods of her life when she went on months-long gluttonous rampages where her reckless appetite haunted her every waking minute, as she later…    read more

Paul is driving on the southern tip of the Maine Turnpike when the first snowflake falls, a lonely ephemeral shape that dissolves on the glass as soon as it hits. He glances at the urn in the backseat, sitting upright in a cardboard box with the seatbelt cinched tightly around the box, squuezing it slightly out of shape.