Mirror Me

by Lisa Williamson Rosenberg

That night, Eddie followed her up the stairs to his apartment, giving her enough of a lead to admire the tilt, switch, tilt of her ass—that classic flat ass that trails so many upper-class white women—

thats wild

I notice Lucy’s frown, though she says no more. Eddie doesn’t know she’s familiar with the scar’s position and shape, if not its dimension.

Cue multicolored clouds speeding overhead, the sky blackening, brightening rapidly in turn, to indicate the passage of time.

I know what you’re wondering at this point: Where is he, anyway? The real Andy Lindberg? That, I’ll tell you. While I am addressing Tyrone’s mourners at Riverside Church—essentially using Eddie’s body to utter Andy’s thoughts—the corporeal Andy is on an acupuncture table in Chicago, getting treatment for his chronic lumbar pain.

Anders’s twin was none other than Eddie Asher.

saw that coming

He was that man, Anders. You knew him! You lived with him!” “What? No I didn’t!” “Yes! He was that famous dancer.

also called this