Elleke Boehmer


What he told her. Usually, that his heart was no good. Sometimes, how he missed the sea. She takes the yellow-painted motor launch across the river and on the other side has salted cod, sweet lemonade. The air here is brackish. The waitress's mouth is painted brick-red. At the far end of the wharf men are bringing in jelly fish. The black nets filled with blubbery white.



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