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My sister sees an Eskimo in the inkblot markings of her old cat. "See?" she says. She's never spotted Jesus or Elvis in anything, and I'm grateful. She makes dollhouse furniture she sells at fairs and flea markets. Impeccable works little fingers will tirelessly rearrange. She lives small/works small. Is still pining over her first love. A lifeguard who peaked in high school. Works in a Kleenex factory. "Paper products," she says, who doesn't need them?" We order pizza. Sit in front of the TV. All that melted cheese and sauce in a swirl. One could see just about anything.

Story by:

Robert Scotellaro

4 March 2016