MAG 104 - Sneak Preview
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The Last Time I Never Saw My Brother
The young man pulled the skin off of whatever had been pretending it was my brother. He asked, with a voice so full of playful mischief that I felt vile rise in my throat. It was like an impressionist painting of a dancer, or colors and shapes that made you feel movement you couldn't see. The next thing I remember was the cool night air on my face,. as the opera house patrons pushed past me to get into the evening performance of Tosca. In my hands I held an old black and white circus flyer. Written all over in Cyrillic, but in the bottom left corner was a certain clown's face, leering out at me, build as the guest performer
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