Excerpts
From Issue 18: "Vamos," by Emily James
But when the smallest girl reaches into her Cheese Doodles and the plastic bag cracks into a cut then a sliver and then rips in two, the powdered curls falling out into a sad orange pile, she looks at me, lip turning inward, about to give way. I reach for her, but in this moment, she needs him—the man who gave her those lean legs and left dimple and kinky curls and skin the color of autumn leaves.
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