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friday night fog pills

The surgeon hid my medical records in a hollow log somewhere deep in the orchard. He gave himself a concussion from repeatedly banging his head on a cloud that floated through an open window of his study.

The nurse enters my room late at night and gives me pills to help me summon the fog. I slip out of bed and kneel before her. I lift up her skirt and kiss her thigh. She grips the edge of my bed and steadies herself. I listen to her breathe through her surgical mask.

Fog fills the room. A phone beeps at the end of the corridor.

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