It was a high-school gymnasium, basketball hoops on either
side, bleachers with the outlines of invisible teenagers--dashes like on
coupons cut from the newspaper---two giant slicers rolled diagonally. The game
was to run across and not to die. I did that. Later, up on a giant sidewalk
floating in space, none of the concrete pieces touching, Lucille Ball chased me
and tried to pull me off. There was no bunny rabbit. There was no neighborhood
scare dog. There was no prank call to the McDonald’s strawberry shake. It was
just us. You weren’t there. Don’t keep saying you were.
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