As the curtain goes up, I'm sitting naked on the potty in my grandfather's backyard in a little village in Serbia. The year is 1940. I look happy. It's a nice summer day full of sunlight, although Hitler has already occupied most of Europe. I have no idea, of course, that he and Stalin are hatching an elaborate plot to make me an American poet. I love the neighbor's dog, whose name is Toza. I run after him carrying my potty in my hand, wanting to pull his tail, but he won't let me.
Feature, 3830 words
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