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Barthelme, Donald

The Balloon, Donald Barthelme

If you’ve been listening for a while, you may know that I have an unfortunate habit of whining, incessantly and irrepressibly, in those months when the cold has rendered my extremities indistinguishable from assorted varieties of freezer section meats. It’s a problem I’ve known about, it’s one that those around me suffer in kind on behalf of all of you, and it’s one that I’d love to kick, if only I inject some lock de-icer into these knees. Maybe anti-freeze would work?

If you’ve been listening for a while, you may know that I have an unfortunate habit of whining, incessantly and irrepressibly, in those months when the cold has rendered my extremities indistinguishable from assorted varieties of freezer section meats. It’s a problem I’ve known about, it’s one that those around me suffer in kind on behalf of all of you, and it’s one that I’d love to kick, if only I inject some lock de-icer into these knees. Maybe anti-freeze would work?

Someone on iTunes recently remarked that he suspects I may be mentally insane. You may be correct, anonymish commentator. Or, I may be cold, is all.

But this should warm us right up, regardless its effect on our mental state.

(ps: for those of you who are made of time, I’ve been tossing some petals to the wind on tumblr. Unsure if it’ll stick. But come say hello.)

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By miette

Miette has been podcasting the best of world literature's short fiction since March 2005, when she was just a pup.

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