Saturday, May 30, 2009


It was very nearly the end of the toothpaste. I meted out tiny bits on the end of my brush: first child-sized blobs of white, and then dots, then flecks, and then nothing. I checked the news wires that night—as we all did, I suppose—but there was still no good news. The next morning, the street was littered with the jags of broken plastic, scattered bristles.

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