Hunt The first doll I remember being given was of a sturdy vinyl construction: a big baby doll with molded plastic hair rather than lifelike hair and eyes that opened and closed. It was about the size my baby
Wednesday morning, 7:48. Fremont Avenue. The street is full. An old brown sedan crawls like a dying beetle over its surface. The motor sputters. It backfires while the car’s shadow paints the road beneath it with a thick, lingering