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"Life is for the Living" • Glass Ghost (by David Yourdon)

I’m sorry, but I can’t see anybody right now. I’ve become nocturnal. You can meet me at the 7th Ave. Diner for coffee and donuts, but only at 2 am. But I may not be there. I’m sorry, but I’m moving to a town you’ve never heard of in a South American country you can’t pronounce. You aren’t allowed to come. Besides, you’d never make it. To get there, it’s a flight and then a ferry to an old colonial town and then a bus and then a walk over towering sand dunes. The ocean talks to me there, I sleep in a hammock, the moon paints the waves. But if you visit, I’ll be gone. I’m sorry, but I’m shrinking, I’m turning into a dust mote, I can’t be near you. I don’t have a phone, I don’t have an address, there’s no way to reach me. If you find me, I’ll die. 

Did you know that a droplet of salt water jumped out of the Atlantic Ocean and licked me clean? Soon I’ll be the size of an ant. If you pick me up, I may not crumble. Did you hear that there are now direct flights to Montevideo? The lights in the city will look dim to you, and you may not understand the accent, but the bus north to the beach towns is comfortable. Maybe you’ll see me in the hammock. I’m there all day, all night. Did you know that the 7th Ave. Diner now serves both coconut donuts AND toasted coconut donuts? I order them in pairs, eat them in fists, and the coffee refills are bottomless. Often I bring two paperbacks in case I can’t figure out what to read. One is for you. They’re open 24 hours, but I go there at 6 am, if you want to come. After it rains, the sunrise explodes through the diner windows and you’re so happy you can hardly see.

David Yourdon is a writer based in Canada. His stories have appeared or are forthcoming in SmokeLong Quarterly, HAD, Atlas and Alice, BULL, and elsewhere. Read more at


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