First appeared in Caketrain (Issue 7, 2009)

In the house there were men living like lemurs, lemurs living like men. The house called attention to itself in the way large children do in small rooms with smaller children. That is, on a hill, larger than the town in which it was part, there was the house and the effect of the town’s attention to it. Women came to the house as if arriving by carriage. All was gay, and it was no bother that most of the hosts were mistaken for lemurs and none for men. Visually, though, the women stood unfeeling and intricate. They had the hue of twilight at the edges. And when the great planes rushed overhead, their breasts trembled under Victorian dresses and the men smiled in lemur-like manner, and slapped one another on the back in gross and learned merriment. But it was the largest child among them who cried out, the largest who came running barefoot along the floorboards, the largest, always, who fell down, cursing.