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Fiction by Sean Ennis

You Don’t Own Me

They bought the wrong house by mistake. They got the address reversed. Move-in day was so embarrassing. They had fields now. They had fog. Shit was beautiful. The agent had spread her hands wide and said, You don’t go broke making a profit. Look! Is that a lynx in the tree? It’s included. Of course, they did not own the big cat. This was my friend Shadow and his wife Wanda. He was practicing for his cosmetology exam, and she was debugging her app. They thought of themselves as very busy, and now this big mistake. My friend Shadow had been rehearsing how to tell Wanda that from now on he’d be taking responsibility for his own pleasure. In the back of his mind all the time, especially as he was unloading the moving truck, was from now on, from now on. The fog burned off before lunch, and the house was revealed to be surrounded by warm, yellow grass. Wanda thought their new investment looked like a gravestone. They hadn’t intended to retreat. They felt like if things kept going the way that they were going, things will have gone too far.

The Old Rats

This motorcycle gang stops in our little town for brunch every Sunday. They don’t start fights or sell drugs while they’re here. They don’t even go crazy vis-à-vis the bottomless mimosas. This one’s eating a duck confit croque madame. She’s having chilled cantaloupe soup with yogurt and mint leaf. There’s hot habanero bacon jam on their leather jackets. Still, they are given a wide berth, welcomed like migratory birds of prey. We know about the terror they inspire out in the county, but what can we do? The sheriff is at the counter drinking his sissified frappuccino, not making eye contact. We know who they are.

Sean Ennis

Twitter: @seanennis110

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