Regional Keystone
Erin Fitzgerald

It’s an important job, she said. She didn’t seem embarrassed so much as sad. Saturdays sometimes, she said. Most of the time.

She mentioned by accident where she lived, and it stepped through me in a breath.

The city is too expensive, she said. Neither one of us said that many things are too expensive.

Everyone has to make a choice. Hair cut forward, hair cut backward. The choice rarely changes once it’s made. But it can change, if you really want it to change. Do you?

I love these shoes, she said. I had them specially made.

On weekends we are invisible to each other. We walk forward with our stomachs, and our souls in our kidneys. We used to say that the sidewalks were immaculate. We used to say that it doesn’t matter what’s in a hot dog.

She doesn’t see that things have changed.

Inside the train rolls slightly westward, with the windows sliding past the ruminations of concrete tunnels. Eventually, they always come to rest in the middle of a low, angry, persistent buzz.

Erin Fitzgerald’s fiction has appeared in fine literary journals such as Necessary Fiction, PANK, Wigleaf, jmww, and Referential. She is editor of The Northville Review, and she teaches, writes, and lives in western Connecticut.

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