Tone wakes in the middle of the night. A breath breathing on his neck. At first he assumes it’s Flint’s fitful breath. He must’ve joined Tone in bed, stretched across the arc of his back, his snout behind his head, his nose close to his ear. A grumblevoice. A shifting of weight.

Continue reading (opens in PDF).

This is an excerpt from the novel The Impossible Year.

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Frank Garrett lives and writes in Dallas. He blogs at mycrashcourse.net and tweets @limmoraliste. He is a contributing editor for minor literature[s] and a contributing writer for TheaterJones.com.

Banner image by James Knight.

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