From Issue 11: The Games We Play at the Intersection of Monday and Sheridan

Josh Gaines The alarm clock wakes me, like it does, like I ask it to, and I’m pissed anyway. It’s Chicago, end-of-October dark at 7am, and the floors keep getting colder. These old buildings, their fireplaces all sealed up after one of those citywide fires. No one’s ever stayed warm in this house in winter. I want a rug path to the dresser. I had one. I also have a cat. The two didn’t mix. Fast forward forty minutes. Tile kitchen floors remind me of my laziness, and the shower ended a while back. Feet dry, I finally put on…

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