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    Elizabeth Eslami

    32. Sour Milk

    By Elizabeth Eslami

    He was born with a blond pompadour in Comanche, Wyoming, to raconteurs and pitiable circumstances. His father had just finished serving out the last months of a jail stint for writing bad checks and masterminding an elaborate pyramid scheme; his mother was a secretary for a shady utility company and spent her free time downing boxes of pink wine. They brought Deacon Friddle home from the hospital and installed him in the trailer like an imitation wood coffee table.

    The infant—whose features included blue slit-eyes and an obscenely small nose—lay drowsily in his crib, while his parents both snapped open matching purple cans of Tab. Jack and Jenna Friddle were unsurprised and uninspired by their baby, as they had been by the pregnancy, which they mistook for months as gut fat.

    “How soon do you think we can tell if he’s ‘special’?” his mother wondered. “You know, like affected?” . . . Read More.


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