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lisa borkovich · Fiction · November 2026
Thomas Hunter lay on a gurney in a hallway of the overflowing emergency ward at Toronto General, wondering when and where he had made the wrong choice to end up in such a hellhole. Had it been one wrong choice, or a series of them? He stared at the needle in his arm, his eyes following the line of thin tubing up to the bag of clear fluid. His disoriented mind tried to sort through the day’s confusion.I went for walk. I was going to cut through Grange, but saw Crazy Singing Dance Lady. Didn’t want her voice looping in our head all day so we avoided the park. Any hour of the day it seemed, he could exit the front door of his apartment building, and find Crazy Singing Dance Lady across the street, singing and dancing as if her life depended on it. She’d sashay, tap, plié, shuffle, crooning: “I want to be a star. See my name written ‘cross the sky. Staring into space. Calling me home where…
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From the archive
Cathriona Lafferty · 2012 · Poetry
A recovered text from the first iExile body — returned to circulation, not as nostalgia, but because it still burns.
Returned to circulation
2012 — To Live and Die in L.A.
Alex Mascarenhas · Essays
2018 — The Umbrella
Lifeasapoet · Poetry
2010 — Fragile Ebb
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Bulă, or How We Invented Quantum
Bulă, or How We Invented Quantum
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