
Matthew Klam Reads “The Other Party”
The New Yorker: The Writer's Voice - New Fiction from The New Yorker
I Made Tea at Your House
When I saw Terry on the ground, I wanted to burst into tears and run away. My personality functioned like a system of gears and wires. Ruth was a pale, puffy-lipped beauty, but she looked spent. This cookie party was going to suck, but I was determined to see it through with the emotional range and cool efficiency of a well-trained hospice worker.
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