“I only know 23 ways to be a fake, and I’ve only shown you 22 of them,” I said to her. Not the most charming thing to say, I admit, but I thought she might want to see number 23. First she threw out my bottle of Balvenie scotch. Then she threw out my autographed photo of Joe DiMaggio. I listened as the frame shattered on the sidewalk below. I could’ve told her how I waited for her to come to bed each night, but I just left. The next morning the deer heads waited for me. Eyes yearning. Fake.
Photo Credit: Joel Brouwer
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