The New Yorker: Fiction cover image

Sherman Alexie Reads Raymond Carver

The New Yorker: Fiction

CHAPTER

I've Got a Case of the Shakes

I sit down on the front steps and light a cigarette. I'm thinking about chimney sweeps when for some reason start to think about the house my wife and i lived in just after we were married. That house didn't have a chimney. So i don't know what makes me remember it now, but i remember the house and how we'd only been in there a few weeks when we heard a noise outside one morning. And woke up. It was sunday morning and so early it was still dark in the bedroom, but there was this pale light coming in from the bedroom window. I listened i could hear something scrape against the side of the house. My god, my wife

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