“It didn’t matter to him what June wanted. That’s what he told himself. Calfskin boots, Mandarin oranges in syrup, fancy tobacco. But her teeth would rally to the twang of his shoulder, she would coo But Billy, and these gifts would appear in his hands, tasting sweet to his palms. She thanked him with heat and salt, with the hitching up of slick skirts and a fine spidery amnesia that threatened to creep on until dawn. She thanked him with buckshot kisses and flashflood thighs, and he would forget…”

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None of Us Do