from Post Moxie
by Julia Story
You do too have a soul, I tell him absentmindedly while mending last year’s swimsuit. I won’t date anyone who can’t buy his own ointment, I add. We aren’t dating, we’re adhering. I don’t believe, I refer. “Oinkment,” my neighbor from Portugal said sheepishly: the punch line to the first joke he learned in this crappy language.


