
Joshua Ferris Reads “The Boy Upstairs”
The New Yorker: The Writer's Voice - New Fiction from The New Yorker
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She Was Something and Not Nothing
She sat down in the middle of the kitchen and wept. She sent him four quick texts, have you confirmed that nicky hurt himself? She asked. Andy didn't reply. He had stepped away or was sleeping. What time was it in antarctica? Anyway, andy, please. I need to know. Might nicky still be alive? she stood in her kitchen waiting for a response. There was nothing. But if he wote back, if he was mistaken, if she tuxed it again, andy still nothing. Then she heard the noise again. Faint at first, it might have only been the house shifting. But no, there it was
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