Teresa Lamai


"Fatima, just take it. You don't have to ask." There was fresh sweet bread on the table and for the first time in months I felt hunger sharply. My new housemate Goran got angry when I asked for some. I was still learning that Goran prides himself on not owning...

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Small Dance

Every morning, as I leave my apartment, there is something new by the dumpster. I can't decide if it's trash or guerilla art. Today it's a small TV coated in white paint, a deranged naked barbie on top. Words have been scratched expertly onto the screen: They can't...

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The moment I saw Aracelli, I decided I hated her. I was nineteen. For a year, I had been scrambling in the back rows of class and rehearsal at American Ballet. She appeared one sweltering May afternoon, a new student, serene, frail, with skin that gleamed like melted...

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