It was lunch. And the day of the bet. Roger was fortunate to find a lunch lady willing to cook something fresh from the griddle. Upset stomach, he claimed. The lunch lady must have been new, and had not yet developed the hard toxic shell that all workers in the middle school cafeteria must develop should they survive the year. Roger was grateful, but also knew this might be a one time thing.
—From “Fall from Autumnway” from the curiously long book of short stories, “I am lettuce, who are you?”
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