My Imaginary Husband As A BankerKim Roberts
Husband, I vouchsafe to you my hundred odd obsessions; in return I let you barter your old stories three, four times. I send you out for garbage bags and you return with dish soap. Home from a trip, your briefcase explodes its yellowed quotes across our bedroom floor. Each night, your stocks accrue a deep and dreamless sleep spooning next to my bonds. In our economy of quirks and secrets, habits and rituals, it seems an even exchange.
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