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Sundays
By Jonathan Shikes
First
Joe fills our kitchen sink with hot water and soaks three fifteen-ounce cans of
Hunt’s tomato sauce until the labels float away. Then he dries each can with
one of the adorable blue-and-yellow checkered hand towels that my niece Colleen
gave me for my birthday. When he’s done caring for each one of those cans, Joe
wipes his hands on his pants and leaves the towel in a ball on the counter. . . Papa's Girl
By Soniah
Naheed KamalI want my wife’s
vagina to be as smooth as the sides of a banana split in two. I do not like a clothed vagina. It must be stripped as naked and warm
as a baby’s bottom. I will
shudder at the sight of even a five o’clock shadow. My carnal needs will go unsatisfied and I will be unhappy. . .
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