I Dream of Michael Jackson
by Vincent Poturica

SHORTLY after Michael Jackson dies, I dream that he and I are sharing an apartment in Oakland, California, above a dentist’s office and next door to a newly remodeled synagogue. We’ve been living together long enough that I’m content to sit beside him without feeling the need to speak. The sun is sinking beneath the Golden Gate Bridge, and the fog is rising like smoke from a fire.
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