Unpublished Newswire

Underpants My Value Village doesn’t take underwear. I could not possibly throw nearly a month’s worth of his briefs down the chute to be landfill-crushed, so I’ve made them a lair in one of my own deep drawers. Do I hear them thrumming in there? They don’t feel like they were ever filled by him. Their condition, flattened, piled like leaves, is spiritual, the most disembodied of underpants never again waiting to wrap his ass, his athlete’s glutes — nor expecting to. They’re now the residents of a dresser, tame sirens of the derrière, red, navy, black in a penis parlance, and as I pull...