Sarah Gailey

She was faster than a secret spreading through a church picnic.

In the early twentieth century, the Congress of our great nation debated a glorious plan to resolve a meat shortage in America. The idea was this: import hippos and raise them in Louisiana’s bayous. The hippos would eat the ruinously invasive water hyacinth; the American people would eat the hippos; everyone would go home happy. Well, except the hippos. They’d go home eaten. Much to everyone’s disappointment, Congress didn’t follow through on the plan, and today America lives a cursed life—a beef life, with nary a free-range hippo within the borders of our country.

Get used to it, ma’am. We have a saying where I’m from—boys will make you cry, but girls? Girls will make you sweat.

I regret nothing: it was worth it for the hats alone.

It’s not a caper,” Houndstooth replied, sounding irritated. “It’s an operation. All aboveboard.

Affirmation and illusion, bound up tighter than two snakes in the same egg.