The Zipper: a short story.

Looking back, it seems impossible to recall the body I lived in before that summer when I was twenty-two, when my skin was wrought with a wrongness I couldn’t yet name. The air hung heavy that year, everything swollen with heat: curtains sticking to damp skin, groceries rotting faster than I could eat them. I slept poorly, sweating through sheets, scratching at the itch that had appeared between…