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Issue 6: Home
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Real/Unreal I create a new world each night while I sleep: I own a convertible that fires guided missiles; my parents are still alive and I have dinner with them every week; I can fly; my apartment has a door in the closet that leads to an underground espionage school -- And each morning my world is erased by sun, alarm or hungry cat, and all that remains is a false memory, a fabricated existence that I have to throw aside with the sheets: No, I'm not in Paris; no, I'm not 19; no, she doesn't love me anymore... ~W. Eric Martin A Massachusetts-based writer, W. Eric Martin is working on a series of stories about wishes. Send him yours at eric@cluestick.org. © 2001 by W. Eric Martin. All Rights Reserved.
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