New Fiction: "Saint Joan" at the Urbanite
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaC0WFYT4db2z_psiXJrsxUDfJzWL5YG2z-qCSggSz0pRiMYrMpnwAxuLF6Kw3pHzMkJNGcoi7KifYMNdCTUz_tOXe8SBrlHDK7Zyu6NhF8SR5BbJIOrXbq9EvgYiizZHUtTejX3X2FzQ/s320/joan-crawford-johnny-guitar.jpg)
"Why must everything be a contest?" Joan Crawford looks back at my children as they fight over a video game, kicking, pushing. They ignore her at the height of her drama. I let her talk, talk until her eyebrows arch almost perpendicular to her eyes and she sighs so heavily it tickles my ear.
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