[fiction by RACHEL B. GLASER]

At camp everyone was hot but we never touched. The names in the wood were romantic to us. We imagined saying Owen into the night. (How mournful and wonderful) Theo! (the O yelling out to the moon) At camp, and only in love with ourselves! The outdoors! (and ourselves!) Owen!

More fiction by Rachel B. Glaser is featured in [C.], an anthology of Stamp Stories from MLP.

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