As I pulled into an almost vacant lot in Grand Rapids, Michigan, with the cars of the few Saturday patrons and library staff parked, I noticed a pale woman wearing a cream-colored dress, its lace browned faintly around the cuffs. Her face possessed the pale stillness of old photographs. Her eyes shifted strangely, as if several people were considering me from behind them at once.
“Good morning,” I said to her.
Continue reading “Specificity by Ryan Scribner”
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