![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() The cabin curves around over his head surrounding him with their alien things: the beading rack, the twins' loom, Andy's leather work, the damned kudzu vine wriggling everywhere, the chickens. He flinches wryly now, so many years later, not looking at the women's faces. The sickening wrongness of shapes, faces turning. His fly open, his dick in his hand, he can still see the grey zipper edge of his jeans around his pale exposed pecker. Himself running blindly-or was he pushed?-into the strange toilet at Evanston Junior High. No help he lives it again, that long-ago moment. Lorimer gazes around the big crowded cabin, trying to listen to the voices, trying also to ignore the twitch, in his insides that means he is about to remember something bad. Houston, Houston, Do You Read? Houston, Houston, Do You Read? by James Tiptree, Jr. ![]()
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