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The complete draft of the piece I submitted to workshop this semester. It's a little iffy and my mother informs me I desperately need an editor, but whatever we're rolling with it. I had a really fun time futzing around with it and the ...
An Iron Lung ---. You will never sleep as easily as you once did when you were a boy: flat on your back with your brother beside you and the sound of a train track curling out from under the wheels of the rail car. ...
Instead, you and your brother had been born in Oklahoma when the circus had still been only a sad string of rusted pickup trucks and a collection of two-headed animals in jars, the tattooed.