Originally published in Boston Literary Magazine
This morning my wife got word her first husband died. She celebrated by whipping up a serious batch of Texas chili. Real sirloin and no red beans. Fantastic. But while cooking she must have sprinkled too much onion and chili powder and cayenne pepper into her creation, because she couldn't quit digging into that box of tissues on the kitchen counter beside her.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
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