Should have been a special fucking day. Indeed it was a special fucking day. Roxanne had just given birth to her fifth baby. A boy. Tyler Dudley Stoneface. But something was wrong with Tyler Dudley Stoneface, fifth baby third son of Roxanne Tristessa Glueteeth-Stoneface. His face didn’t look right.

“His eyes are squishy and his nose is floppy! And that mark on his forehead is bigger than Africa!” Roxanne screamed. The epidural had worn off. The umbilical cord had been cut. The baby had been cleaned and weighed. He was healthy but not quite right, aesthetically.
“Well, now, darlin’…they can’t all be winners. The other four are pretty okay,” Logan slurred. Logan was the drunk husband. He was wearing a dirty pair of green jeans and nothing else. Roxanne wanted to smash her fist into his face but he was her ride home.
“Pretty okay? Good god. Why did I marry you? Oh yeah. My stepdad wouldn’t stop molesting me. We can’t take this thing home. The other four would gang up on him, wipe their boogers all over his face, put dead cockroaches in his bottle. The hospital will have to put him in layaway for unfortunate parents who are unable to breed. Someone will be desperate enough to buy him, surely.”
“Well honey if that’s the way you feel I can’t do much about it. I’m just the sperm donor and the provider. I ain’t got no say.”
“Damn straight.”

On the drive home from the hospital an old INXS song played on the radio, the saxophone rich ballad about making wine from tears. Roxanne laughed until she vomited. Logan tossed his empty beer can out the window. Traffic was light. The moon was full and playing peekaboo behind purple clouds. Roxanne’s vomit was pink and smelled more sour than usual.

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