There's a war going on. Nancy can feel it. She lays on a damp sheet and envisions the carnage within, as macrophages confront the invaders. She imagines herself as Marathon, as Antietam, as Stalingrad, as a field left behind, bootprints deep in the russet mud.
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I have the fever then. You know I love your writing.
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I have to teach lay vs lie to my ESL students and it's a losing battle.
End of conversation
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Only writers feel comfortable talking to other writers about these delicate issues...