Matthew Di Paoli obtained his MFA at Columbia University for fiction. Until we fused and became unflinchingly whole. Me, and we would live forever, sinking downward like the roots of ancient andįorgotten willows growing hotter and deeper toward the centre of the earth ![]() I would wait for her to sink into the earth with The murky sand engulfed her calves and thighs, and her skirt Then, without hesitation, she plunged her other foot in andīegan to sink. Alice slipped off her golden sandals and dipped her foot in. I tried to nod my head, but the quicksand wrapped around “There’s a name for people like us?” I asked. First her nails, then her knuckles, the curve of Head, so I only saw her ankles and knees. There is a grimness to the bottom of the world. How every cigarette stump is warped like childrens’ ear It’s amazing how many different types of hubcaps there are. She often worried about other people’s rugs. “Your mother, she worries,” said my father, watching theĬat-skin vendor praying with a look of bewilderment on his face. Purple in her hair deepened in the baking sun. “We just worry about you,” said my mother. I was too embarrassed to tell him I couldn’t. “Why don’t you just get out?” asked my father. “To tell you the truth, Ma, I don’t like it here much.” It smelled like June in Sicily, and I remembered feeling hot and The pavement grew sticky and moist like liquorice gum. The city can be very cruel to those it deems unworthy. On the third day of quicksand I smelled my body becoming It’s like they say, you never realize how much quicksand The Venus De Milo, but it was the best example I could think of. It if the Venus De Milo started asking you questions, I thought. I looked up in the sky because I knew that’s where they The man’s face glowed like Mayan sacrifice. They whispered to one another in a strange language. They were like small sun gods, and I enjoyed looking One was blonder than the other,īut I wasn’t sure which. Someone tried to come over, waving five dollars at Phone cases laid out a thin rug he kept under his stand and began his morning Always falling into quicksand and showing up to parties while theĪt sunrise, the man who sold cat-skin handbags and cell I was a man who’d existed many times and never in the Wondered if women like that really existed. How precise her steps were, her taut skin and blue tights. I became tired, though I’d never tried sleeping standing up before. The street lamps flickered on, and the traffic lights Orange cone and set it down in front of me. Sounded like the crush of flesh under tires. He took his flat palm, ran it down his wet face. “Is there any way you might call someone for me?” I asked. ![]() I tried to wiggle toward him, but it sucked me in a littleįurther. Something had taken him by surprise many years earlier, and he’d never Through at the armpits, and he had a haggard look about him that told me A clerkįrom Marshall’s put a traffic cone by me so no one else would get stuck. Aįew cars rubbernecked at first, but now they weren’t even stopping. I’d say about a hundred people passed me by. Wished I had the athletic cup because, really, who knows what’s in Manhattan In any case, the quicksand was up to my thighs, and I I was like a squirrel is hugging your genitals. I sometimes just wore it around my studioĪpartment. Very expensive type of athletic cup that most people didn’t really need. I struggled myself into a nice desk job where I sold a Struggle, but struggling is my first response to most everything. Thing that really threw me off was that it was in the middle of ninety-seventh I guess it’s not that odd to step in quicksand, but the I imagined the sand’sĪctually more like the inside of a rhubarb pie. Maybe Indiana Jones or one of those Humphreyīogart movies where he’s a boatsman, and he wears a hat. I hadn’t really thought about quicksand in years. I was on my way to the butcher’s when I stepped in
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