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**PRINT: 1997, by C.T. Ballentine (with an assist by Doug Milam), the first in our 8.5-by-11-inch mini-broadsheets series, easily printable on readers' desktops. We encourage active participation in distribution from any interested parties. Follow the main link above for more.

**PRINT: LIFE ON THE FRONTIER, by Chicago resident and native Kate Duva, is THE2NDHAND’s 33rd broadsheet. Duva's been plying the brains of THE2NDHAND readers for several years now, and her characteristic stylistic mix of arch-weird and arch-real in story makes for an explosively brittle manifestation of reality in this the longest story she's published in these halls, about a young woman's sojourn at what she sees as the edges of American civilization, Albuquerque, N.M., where she works as a nurse in state group homes for aging mentally disabled people. Catch Duva Feb. 8, 2010, at Whistler in Chicago at the second installment of our new reading series, So You Think You Have Nerves of Steel? This issue also features a short by THE2NDHAND coeditor C.T. Ballentine.

**WEB: MIXTAPE: HOW TO LOSE A TAIL Melissa Garrard
BASEBALL Alec Niedenthal
WING & FLY: NERVES OF STEEL / WORK IN PROGRESS | Todd Dills
HIDEOUS BOUNTY: LIFEBOAT | Andrew Davis
FIRE AND RAIN: A TEN-MINUTE PLAY C.L. Bledsoe
UNBEARABLE LIKENESS Christopher Fullerton
ROBOBROTHER Lydia Ship
RABBIT Irene Westcott
OUT Greggory Moore
AMERICAN SOILING FEES John M. Flaherty

HOW TO LOSE A TAIL
---
Melissa Garrard

After "Can't Touch This"/M.C. Hammer. A singer by trade, Garrard writes from Birmingham, Ala.

Don't stop walking. You've got that feeling of someone staring, the feeling of a spider crawling down your neck. Are you being followed? You are? You're sure? Remind yourself, don't turn around. Act natural. See that shop, across the street from you? Take a look into the window and look at your reflection. The angle is right. You should be able to see him. He's maybe 15 feet behind you. He has curly brown hair and is perhaps six feet tall, but you can't see his face for his coat collar. You have the strong urge to turn around, but don't you dare! Goofy girl, you think to yourself. Don't stop walking, but don't start running. Who knows, he could be faster. Can you hear your heartbeat? If you can, you know you're panicking. Take a deep breath and hold it for a few seconds. There. You're calm. You're confident.

THE LEFT HAND: Soap, Lit

Pull your rings off your fingers and take off your watch. Shove them somewhere deep into your coat pockets where you can reach them later. Take your bag off your shoulder and clutch it under your arm instead. Do not let the straps swing. Long purse straps can be used for strangulation, or so you've heard from your father, or your teachers, or the little boys you played with when you were younger. If he wants your purse, he can have it. It's not worth your life, so you're willing to part with it. But if he had just wanted your money, why did he follow you from that coffee shop?

Fix your hair while you wait at the traffic signal with the other pedestrians. Sweep it into the collar of your coat. Feel glad that you're in a crowd of other people. Look into that window across the street. Still there? If he's smart, he won't be. Smile to yourself, knowing that you're very capable of defending yourself.

But you're pretty, and he's eager, so while you're standing there waiting for the light to change, turn around and ask him the time, or say something of no consequence. He's certainly startled at your forwardness, and you watch his brown, cunning eyes widen, his scruffy mouth turn down in dismay. Chances are he'll awkwardly respond, and now you know his face. Can you pick him out of a lineup? If you think you can, and if he chickens out at the thought of you doing so, he'll leave you well enough alone.

As you hoped, he vanishes. But you don't relax just yet. Stalkers are a funny breed, your daddy said, so be ready for anything. There's a knife in your right pocket, but you don't touch it. Don't even put your hand into your pocket, so that when he grabs your arm out of the next alley, you don't have to hesitate.

It doesn't really matter what size he is; it didn't matter in practice, and it certainly doesn't now. He's holding your arm, and yes, he's strong, but don't give up. You drop your purse. It's all right. You at least know that's not what he's after. Grab your own wrists and take a step sideways, away from him, so that your feet are spread and your knees are bent. Pull your arm away, as if it were a lawnmower you were having trouble starting. Pull it as far away as you can. If you're doing it right, you'll pull him forward just a bit. Now, see that line from your elbow to his nose? Use it. Jump if you have to. You swing your arms forward as if you're rocking a very large baby. Daddy always taught you to never pull your punches. Even if you miss his nose, it still hurts like all hell, and hey, you might even break his teeth if you're lucky. Not that you pause to admire your work once he's hit the ground.

In the back of your adrenaline-soaked mind, you wonder if you should put those lovely stiletto heels to use on his ribs or throat, but you decisively grab your purse and walk away, trading pure anger for hysterical fear.

You must be really special if he still follows you after you've broken his face.

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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.

**BOOKS BY THE2NDHAND CONTRIBUTORS at Amazon

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