The Milk Has Teeth
A Vignette and Some Updates
The breath of autumn carries the voice from unseen lips to my ears.
“The milk has teeth,” it whispers.
The voice is light and airy, not quite childish, but young just the same. I stop on the way to my car. Glance around at the inflatable decorations, fiery trees, and front stoops adorned with pumpkins. Everything is orange, purple, and black. The speaker …
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