Timothy Dodd City Feller When my sideways Uncle Dale flies back in from Charlotte, he puts a big thing of Cool Whip all over his slice of apple pie and blows my mind. I have a picture of me watching him at table: my red hair flat to skull, green bean skinny with a striped polo shirt buttoned up to my neck and a gap between my front teeth like the space between parked cars. Fascinated by the sound of air when he pushes down on the nozzle and sprays that white froth all over his dessert. I think that’s why when he comes, he’s happier to see me than the rest of the family.
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