The Owner in the Mirror
The first time I saw her, she was looking at me from the surface of a spoon. I was sitting in my apartment—the one with no windows on the fourth floor of a building on the east side of Manhattan that the landlord forgot to demolish—and I was eating soup from a can I had found in the pantry behind the sink. The spoon was dirty, but I wiped it on my shirt and the reflection was clear enough....
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