New Fiction: Cotton | Gravel Magazine

Even while our mom and aunts and great aunts shouted over canasta tiles and laughed loud and warmly as they hunted maraschino cherries in their holiday whisky sours, and our dad and uncles and grand uncles clustered in the kitchen playing poker and drinking happy Pabst from glasses with droll cartoons on them, my sister and I stayed hunkered down in the little village.

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