The Darkest Part

I was sitting in a hotel room in Santa Fe, there for . . . I think I was doing a Percival Everett thing, along with Gerald Vizenor and I forget who-all. Been a year or two, or five or six. Anyway, Ellen Datlow got hold of me last-minute, said she needed a story yesterday for Nightmare Carnival. So, instead of trying to find a movie theater, which I my usual protocol, I burned up the afternoon writing a story, going pretty much a hundred percent off the cover she showed me:

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