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in the form of untransformed ash.
In the middle of a Costco
in Connecticut, I said Gimme.
You said, Let’s do the most New England
thing we can think of. Let’s go sailing
in khaki shorts. I’ll bring the chowder,
you bring our phoenix.
Our phoenix would increase
productivity by fashioning a new
type of pushpin. Our phoenix
would help clean the bathroom,
our email inboxes. Make that three phoenixes!
we were about to say. But then saw
the cheery aproned employee, his tray of
free samples, our fellow wholesale members
devouring the ash, the whole package
designed in Brooklyn, assembled in Beijing—
a long line of stay-at-home dads trying
to digest the myth, the power
in imported powder state.
A woman in an orange cardigan
came by, watched along with us.
She said, Tried it before. Just makes you
shit weird. But isn’t it something,
the hope for, I don’t know, more?