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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 7, Number 1, March 2013


Steven Carter
Tucson, Arizona, USA


We were blind dates. Instantly taking a liking to each other, we went to the beach, roasted hot dogs, popped a few beers, got half in the bag—and said nothing.

The stars came out and, masochistically, I paraphrased Juliet's, "I will put my lover in the sky, and cut him out in little stars. . . ."

Staring miserably out to sea, our hands close but not touching, both of us had revealed that a week or so earlier, each had been unceremoniously dumped by a significant other. (By the way, never believe that stuff about misery loving company!).

Now, on this nearly deserted beach on Coronado Island—deserted except for another couple fifty or so yards from us—she suddenly points upward, "Is that Cygnus?"

". . . .The '54 Hudson," I say.

"Is that Orion?"

"The chromium dinette set."


"Sonny and Cher."

She smiles for the first time.

"Is that—"

turning to the next dune—
he touches her hair
she turns to the wind



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