In my first memory as a child, I sit naked in a garden somewhere in the Congo watching ants scutter in line. They lug the pale green carcass of a […]
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The Metaworker Literary Magazine
Where great stories are forged
In my first memory as a child, I sit naked in a garden somewhere in the Congo watching ants scutter in line. They lug the pale green carcass of a […]
Read more