Ruchira Mandal

    The imperturbable house swam before her eyes. She couldn’t tell if the roiling in the pit of her stomach was due to the beer, or the lack of food, or the long anxious load of expectation that had been the party, now gone. She fumbled for keys, then gave up. The porch would have to do, although, she would have to try not to puke on the cushions. She fumbled some more. No pills. The car door slammed. The engine revved. Too late, she remembered she had left her shoes behind. Well, that would be something to wait for, anyway.

    Seed by Ruchira Mandal. Image by Gregory Crewdson.

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