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**PRINT: A GAME I ONCE ENJOYED, by Chicago's Patrick Somerville, is THE2NDHANDís 32nd broadsheet. Somerville's work previously appeared in No.24 in 2007, and this Somervilleís second broadsheet since the release of his short-story collection, Trouble, in 2006 marks the first since his novel, The Cradle, launched into the cultural imagination with coverage in the form of reviews in places as high as the New York Times Book Review. Donít let that turn you off, though; Somervilleís work is viscerally humorous and elegantly dramatic as the best out there, as evidenced in this epic story, about a chess game whose stakes might well be higher than its players know. Also in this issue: a short from Ohio scribe Daniel Gallik.

**WEB: LAST DAY IN BIRMINGHAM: A TWITTER ITINERARY Todd Dills
ITINERARY: ON THE ROAD WITH A PUNK BAND IN SPAIN Joanna Powers
LUNCH HOUR SHOPPING Nikolina Kulidzan
WAY AS THE WIND Joel Van Noord
NINE ITEMS FROM YOUR DISAPPEARANCE David Wirthlin
WING & FLY: DREAMS OF A THRILLER | Todd Dills
I SING FOR SONNY'S FISH Heather Palmer
THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF DR. KIMBELL Margaret Patton Chapman
THE PICKPOCKET Michael Peck
HIDEOUS BOUNTY: BLOOD BROTHERS | Andrew Davis

LAST DAY IN BIRMINGHAM
a Twitter itinerary
---
Todd Dills

Thursday, July 30, THE2NDHAND editor Todd Dills moved with his wife, child and THE2NDHAND's south co-HQ to Nashville, Tenn., from Birmingham, Ala. In classic THE2NDHAND-itinerary fashion, he marked the occasion by writing about it in short bursts as it happened, originally on his Twitter page. The results are below. When the itinerary as lit-form was first conceived here (in 2000), Twitter wasn't around, unfortunately, so readers had to take our word for it that things happened -- or at least the writing about the things that happened -- happened in the order and for the duration they did. Now, of course, Twitter is here; call it our little attempt to make art in the midst of the cacophony there, perhaps. This is the first of what we hope will be a continuing series -- about writing, about microblogging, tweeting, whatever you like -- about life. Writers with Twitter pages, if you're interested in doing something similar, get in touch.

11:21 p.m.: which begins the day prior, sandwiched between columns of boxes.

11:24: after attempting to transmit via cell network, wonder whether one has jumped proverbial gun -- message is: network failure.

11:25: pack last glass. Tape box shut. Ponder missed opportunity. Vulcan moons. Barbecue forgone. The inability to explain finality to a child.

11:34: check network outages. Nothing. Drain beer and head for toothbrush. Outside: lightning, cars, thunder. Inside: boxes, trash.

11: 39: sleeping wife, other distractions from toothbrush: a plate that needs a box, a screwdriver. Hell is coat hangers, a wise woman once said.

11:46: say, "Hell is boxes."

11:47: back to toothbrush, this time in earnest -- examine coffee stains left by three years' worth of hour-long drives to office, scant dentistry.

11:53: note what little effect brushing actually has on stains.

11:54: scowl, spit. Network failure. Sleep.

6:50 a.m.: wake.

6:52: set coffee to cooking. Build box to contain coffee grinder, other last things.

7: pack box w/ dishes -- baby sip cups, tupperware, baby placemat decorated w/ farm animals, coffee grinder.

7:15: walk to cafe for wife's coffee expecting to see friend who looks like Patrick Somerville. Closed. Network failure. Send. Network success.

7:30: success is uplifting in matters of moving, a neverending struggle against hell, coat hangers and boxes. In matters of mobile writing, too.

7:38: fold socks. Note ever-increasing number of missing pairs.

8:03: spill contents of toolbox on moving men. Clean up. Count boxes.

8:06: 114.

8:37: excuse oneself: 120.

8:41: apologize again for toolbox mishap, offer water, coffee. Too early for beer?

8:48: life is 120 boxes. Think Forrest Gump. Think Little SC boy with little prospects. Think You.

8:58: eat: last piece of bread in apartment.

9:51: load to Goodwill. Yoga mat. Bags, bags, bags of clothes.

9:58: think of Tom McCarthy's "Remainder": consider reenacting yr last trip here. Try to remember it first. Network failure.

10:03: pass hospital where your child was born. There is beauty in the inability to explain finality to a child. The beauty of process, flux.

10:06: think: you are at crash risk, texting while driving. No, writing while driving.

10:24: MS13: lucky streetwise gang. Maybe unlucky. Return to cleaning, packing.

10:29: DO YOU HAVE NERVES OF STEEL? New reading series, according to M. Ballentine. Pack toilet tissue.

11:04: precariously balanced boxspring and mattress fall over onto wife fiddling with iPhone. Say, "Can we reenact that?"

11:09: wife scowls, supporting the weight of mattress with one hand, phone in the other. Say, "Sorry."

11:23: after some cajoling, reenact falling bed, you in role of wife. Concentrate. Wonderfully harrowing.

11:24: lead mover says, "Can we take that now?"

11:39: dance. Off the Wall. RIP strangest most catchy man in US history.

1:42 p.m.: near out of juice, be reminded by radio it's a good day to leave Birmingham. County employees slashed by 2/3, which sounds gruesome.

2:00: have celebratory drink - wine in paper coffee cup, High Life can - with wife. Load done. Clean done. Bask in boxless echoes.

2:05: watch squirrels pulling plums from tree in courtyard.

2:13: wonder whose and what story you happen to be telling. Finding the I in the midst of formal itinerarying is impossible.

2:16: movers' forgotten items: spool of inventory sticky numbers, roll of brown packing tape, schizophrenic cat, who loved one half the team.

2:17: hissed at and clawed and clearly wanted to destroy the other half.

2:45: choose PBR on trip to Bottletree, home of good food, few readings, much rock. Last stop en route out, really, though cats need picking up.

2:50: ponder what it says about a place when the patio/smOKay corral is dubbed, sinister as all hell, the HOUSE OF REPTILES.

3:38: get in brief argument with wife. About load weight and, of course, money. To appease, obtain free refill by wits at cafe to coffee up for drive.

3:40: shit. Cross out "wits." Coffee is cold. Proceed drinking, in any case.

4:06: guzzle half-gallon OJ. Jump in car. Destination: Nashville. Bye everyone. For now.

4:07: drive.

WING & FLY

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OUR FRIENDS AT The Left Hand make great soap, salves, balms and other natural hygiene-type stuff, in addition to publishing a zine and running a book swap, a performance series and more from their Tuscaloosa, AL, homebase. When they offered to make something for us, we jumped. We introduce THE2NDHAND soap, an olive oil soap with a quadruple dose of Bergamot, "for the readers we've sullied..." Price is $6, ppd.

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