She was one of those cousins I'd never known about. Darker
skin gloved in a white turtleneck. Texas, December. Soft nest of black hair -
part tumbleweed, lint and 100% Annette Funicello. Their truck descended the
horse field, dropped us at the filing station. "We'll walk back," I
said. The party was in back. A rattlesnake stuck out of a manhole, terrestrial
eel, a solitary stamen waving about the throat of a cement underground flower
disappearing into the earth. Fifty of her closest friends were situated around big
bowls of chips. I was happy. Everything new makes me happy.
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