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**PRINT: THE2NDHAND’s 31st broadsheet features a short by Portland-by-way-of-Montana writer Aaron Parrett that captures the power and glory of ambivalence after, during, and prior to what the unemployed poet-protagonist comes to clearly see as, if not love, then surely "Tolerance," the story's title. Parrett is the author of The Translunar Narrative in the Western Tradition as well as numerous stories that have been featured in lit mags around the nation. No. 31 also features a piece by Kyle Beachy, author of the newly released novel The Slide, out from Dial Press, and a vanguard discount coupon and special FAQ from the herbal remedies and soap makers at The Left Hand (thelefthand.net).

**WEB: SIDES Heather Palmer
TIKI EXPRESS Pitchfork Battalion (Dills, Ballentine, Holmes)
WING & FLY: AMELIA GRAY WINS FC2 PRIZE | Todd Dills
DIVE AND DISMANTLE Kimberly Soenen
HIDEOUS BOUNTY: BLOOD BROTHERS | Andrew Davis
TRADE IMBALANCE / DUMB SETTLEMENT WITH THE FTC David Gianatasio
GRADING ON THE CURVE Eric Beeny
THE ORIGIN OF MAN Eric Beeny
WALLS Amy Woods Butler
ANT RANT Willie Smith

SIDES
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Heather Palmer

Heather Palmer is working on an MFA at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago; her work is current or forthcoming in Elimae, No Posit, Unlikely Stories, Lark Magazine, Fiction at Work, Storyglossia, Lamination Colony.

Sides of buses of trains this man gets off -- looks in windows -- is he good? Yes -- still looking. Heavy steps to work every morning a factory -- coffee recycle newspaper let Patrice out burn toast roast an egg -- no cheese. Twenty minutes to walk to metro he makes it by checking his watch time passes in windows he worries the time on his face shows -- does it -- wrinkles? No. A face clear with woman's skin supple under ruddy-husk beard eyes without crows-feet still color-full. People inside windows check him checking -- a man to the metro -- he tells them -- he flashes his ticket fast so used to this -- boards early -- another window he asks Is he vain? No.

DecomP Magazine

But Shelley accused him -- yes -- damn her -- two nights ago spaghetti dinner he wouldn't touch. But why? He followed her eyes to his plate her brows furrow. He noted with caution Do not repeat. Two reasons -- sauce in the beard and pasta in the belly. Then she said it -- flat and heavy -- his stomach fell -- You're vain. She didn't take it back after they made love after he made her breakfast after he made the jeweler find the perfect pink stone. She didn't take it back. He brought it up with hand over mouth -- you said -- the other day... Yes? I can't remember. You said I was -- vain. He expected a wave -- offhand fluster -- her hand to flutter. But instead Oh that. Then without pause her lips purse to form his dread You are.

Train starts he thinks back -- turns his head -- behind him a lady dark hair thick to shoulders he justifies I bet she's vain. Excuse me? The lady looks into him. Oh -- not you. You weren't talking to me? No. But you're facing me. Yes. Then who were you talking to? He turns around avoids holes with his slight feet -- he loves -- quick to perfect fit in the best shoes -- he looks at them head down and hat falls off. She reaches first he thinks I do not like you. Here. She hands him the felt-lined hat rabbit's hair soft on the skin. He puts to place steadies himself but sees her fingernails -- undone -- pink so plain unpainted. Disgusting.

You were talking to me. He shakes his head reduced under her. I'm not though. Not what? Vain. I'm not vain either. What's your name? He looks out the window thinks of this name -- now -- Grigor. I'm Patty. Patty? Yes -- what's wrong? Nothing's wrong -- you don't look like a Patty. You were expecting a better name? He swallows a butterscotch offers her one. She sucks and asks for a second. Two. He says This is a long ride. She sees him in window reflection he sees her seeing You avoid answers. My stop's almost here. Why do you avoid answers? I'm gonna stand by the door.

The door opens and a man steps out -- checks himself in the train window -- in shop windows -- on his way. Does he look good? Yes -- he does.

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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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