Nadav Spiegelman

Your Duck Is My Duck

Deborah Eisenberg
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[Nadav’s note: Love it]
There was a soreness on her skin as if she had been slung into a bag in the rear of a van and driven over rutted roads. She swung her legs out of bed. She could feel the floor’s molecular thrum.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Luther says, as the waiter hurries from one of them to the next, setting down immense breakfasts. “We’ve lived long enough for eggs to be healthy again.”
“Oh, please. But darling, I’ll make you and Ed a big, beautiful wedding.” “No,” Emma said. “I want to get married at City Hall. “I want to get married at City Hall,” Emma told Ed later.
I wore one of Christa’s lovely dresses for the occasion, the only one that didn’t make me look seriously delusional.