Third Date
I walked in with my pocket bulging full of a brown glass jar that rattled. Cold loose teeth—mostly molars that had belonged to my uncle though some were my aunt’s and one of them was mine that had been yanked right out that morning. The dentist said no alcohol for five hours and three more had elapsed since then though I was still careful to suck the dry gin down the opposite side to the burgeoning clot that of course in the end I dislodged when I filled up my mouth with those stolen yellow bones—my party trick.
Molly Pepper Steemson is the editor of this ‘magazine’.