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by Bojana Stojcic

November is closing in, which always gets me thinking of the ultimate luxury of having underfloor radiant heating installed. I know it costs a fortune and he’ll say no, but my feet would love it. I’ve tried all kinds of thermal socks, blankets and footwear. It’s no use. The floors at ground level feel like the mouth of a cave. We keep meaning to move upstairs, but never get round to it, so we stay down here. A naked light bulb dangles from the ceiling while he blathers about spirituality and life after death. I mostly picture a house on fire, sunlight streaming in where the roof used to be. I couldn’t care less if it burnt down, as long as the heat melted the cold that snakes out of the walls.

Bojana Stojcic teaches, bitches, writes, bites and tries to breathe in between. Her poetry and prose have appeared in over 30 publications, including Rust + Moth, Anti-Heroin Chic, Barren Magazine, Burning House Press, Mojave Heart Review, Okay Donkey, The Opiate and X-R-A-Y. Her flash was a finalist in the 2019 Midway Journal’s -1000 Below: Flash Prose and Poetry Contest. She blogs at Coffee and Confessions to Go and is @BoyaETC on Twitter.