Like oak leaves in autumn, cascading on stiles
Year's Best Fantasy and Horror, R.I.P. I grew up on this series. Each year I bought the new collection, scoured used book stores for past years; I discovered writers through them—they were the reprint market to which all short stories and poems aspired. They were a field guide as well as a gathering of flowers. And I am not, not pleased to see them go.

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Do you know any rabid goats I could borrow?
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I don't even know any healthy goats. There used to be llamas at Wilson Farms. Is that an acceptable substitute?
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