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October 8, 2020

Drop the Clip

Ryan Norman

I sat on damp lumber and stared at a slug’s trail. It reflected an orange and pink sky in a mucous haze as I listened to the hollow clink of my boyfriend driving golf balls into an apple orchard. I was salty. He asked me if I wanted to shoot his gun to let off some steam. I said no. He offered to drop the clip. I shook my head. I heard him whisper pansy under his breath as his hips switched and a ball spun into the horizon. That slug didn’t know how easy its life was, one foot dragging along wet wood. But it was my turn, and I sent that golf ball to the setting sun.