Everything had a name. Adam’s apple, Crohn’s disease, McDonald’s, Paddy’s hollow. Reese’s peanut butter cups. These things and places belonged to Paul, but they had their own names. Their own masters. One night in April, Paul shackled his leg to the fireplace. His neighbors hadn’t heard him; so they couldn’t help him. He fell face down, his lips stuck to the carpet— its fibers soft and tinged with smoke and urine. Teeth and glass. Avogadro’s number; Seagram’s Gin; Seward’s Folly; a room melting around him; Newman’s Own; the walls black and burning; Paul’s headache; he couldn’t remember a single thing.
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Title by: Micky
Story by: Jeremy
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