Dylan Landis

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Let Her Come Dancing All Afire by Dylan Landis

The patron saint against temptation sits straight-backed in an Italian convent as if mortised into her chair, and she is dead, dead, dead. 

She Will Be Flesh by Dylan Landis

Rainey locks herself into the ladies’ room of the Madison Gardens coffee shop, not far from the Met.

Hate by Dylan Landis

Leah, home from school early, caught her mother—fingers frozen in a Whitman’s Sampler, the box all bristly with pleated cups. Empty, mostly.

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