
Elif Batuman Reads “The Repugnant Conclusion”
The New Yorker: The Writer's Voice - New Fiction from The New Yorker
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How Can I Hold Hands All the Time?
I put one hand on his chest to feel how strong and sexy he was. With the other hand, i atively felt the place where his buzz cut started. How amazing that it was possible to communicate like that. He touched my face, tilted my chin up, and the angle of the kiss got deeper. Shall we get out of here, he said, in a suave, euph stic sounding tone. I nodded. The cold was breath taking. Why wasn't it possible to hold hands all the time? In grade school, my friend leora and i would routinely walk down the hallway holding hands. And nobody ever asked.
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