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	<title>Two Hawks Quarterly &#187; short story</title>
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	<description>A Literary Uprising</description>
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		<title>Getting By</title>
		<link>http://twohawksquarterly.com/2011/10/20/getting-by/</link>
		<comments>http://twohawksquarterly.com/2011/10/20/getting-by/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 20 Oct 2011 01:38:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>aulapress</dc:creator>
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		<category><![CDATA[wallet]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://twohawksquarterly.com/?p=4593</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Dan Coxon &#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160; For the first week the wallet sat next to the phone. David would eye it cautiously as he left for work each morning, as if he expected it to burst into flames, or come to life and flap clumsily across the room. All it did was slowly gather a thin film of dust. &#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160; When he&#8217;d seen it lying half-hidden beneath the grocery store&#8217;s magazine stand his first reaction had been to find someone to pass it to, a simple transfer of responsibility. As he&#8217;d stared vacantly at the bulging square of leather, though, he&#8217;d caught a glimpse of his reflection in the plastic sheen of the counter, and he&#8217;d balked. The last two years had been unkind to his waistline and his hairline alike. The checkout girl had turned her eyes away from him, her expression returning to a bored, blank slate, and he had little doubt that its contents would end up divided among her friends in a strip-lit back room. &#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160; It was only as he bent stiffly to pick it up, his back straining to complete this simple maneuver, that the realization hit him. He had seen this particular wallet before. It took [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Summer 2008</title>
		<link>http://twohawksquarterly.com/2008/08/22/summer-2008/</link>
		<comments>http://twohawksquarterly.com/2008/08/22/summer-2008/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 22 Aug 2008 05:00:14 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>aulapress</dc:creator>
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		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://aulapress.wordpress.com/?p=1083</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Two Hawks Quarterly Issue 2 &#8211; Number 1 &#8211; Summer 2008 __________________________________________________ &#160; &#160; A Letter Not Sent Kristine Ong&#160;Muslim Are They Real? Virginia&#160;Silverman Avoiding Her Art Eugenie&#160;Theall BLOCK Darby&#160;Bailey Bread &#38; Tablecloths Sergio&#160;Ortiz Childless Eugenie&#160;Theall Defeating the Forces of Caf&#233; Amore Laurie&#160;Barton FAMILY OWNED R. Neal&#160;Bonser Forever 18 Casey Cohen Mulling Spices Jennifer&#160;Bradpiece ORBIT Melissa&#160;Mason Reversal of Aging Laurie&#160;Barton RITUALS Lynn&#160;Bey Soul&#8217;s Call Jonathan&#160;Emrys TAGORE&#8217;S KISS Shome&#160;Dasgupta The Art of Giving Devin Galaudet Without Words Philip C. Barragan,&#160;II &#160; &#160; Copyright Information &#160;]]></description>
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		<title>Spring 2008</title>
		<link>http://twohawksquarterly.com/2008/05/22/spring-2008/</link>
		<comments>http://twohawksquarterly.com/2008/05/22/spring-2008/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 22 May 2008 02:30:50 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>AULA Editor</dc:creator>
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		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://aulapress.wordpress.com/?p=398</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Two Hawks Quarterly Issue 1 &#8211; Number 4 &#8211; Spring 2008 __________________________________________________ &#160; &#160; Between the Bells Gina Maria DiPonio Bugs Morgan W. Strauss Catch Diana Corbin Crawl, Toddle, Walk, Run Darby Bailey Dancing Zachary Ash Dead Man&#8217;s Nail Dennis Fulgoni Dichos, and the Things my Mother Told Me Philip C. Barragan II Dining Alone Darby Bailey Emancipation of Self (Through Loss of an Other) &#38; Others Crystal Moore I Have A Thumb Like Carl Darby Bailey I See Gay People Dale Madison Johnny Loretta Williams Making Movies Martha Woodroof Nobody Thought It Would Rain At God&#8217;s Funeral Mike Rosen The Art of Rush Hour Traffic Josh Stewart The End of the World Book Alistair McCartney the jasmine hedge is intoxicating Gretchen Mattox The Masked Boxer Marykate Linehan The Queen&#8217;s Greens Darby Bailey Time to Repaint the Barn Darby Bailey Untitled Kurt Bloom &#160; &#160; Index &#160; Copyright Information &#160;]]></description>
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		<title>Between the Bells by Gina Maria DiPonio</title>
		<link>http://twohawksquarterly.com/2008/05/21/between-the-bells-by-gina-maria-diponio/</link>
		<comments>http://twohawksquarterly.com/2008/05/21/between-the-bells-by-gina-maria-diponio/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 21 May 2008 21:33:23 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>AULA Editor</dc:creator>
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		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://aulapress.wordpress.com/?p=382</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[It was those charged five minutes between 2nd and 3rd period when the courtyard of my junior high was suddenly thronged with twelve-, thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds of all shapes and sizes, all with backpacks dangling off their shoulders. Small groups began to form, halting traffic on the two narrow cement walkways that crisscrossed between the three separate grade buildings and the gymnasium. Some groups stepped off the cement onto the grass. They stood together in the sun, huddling close, smiling, talking and laughing louder than they ever could in class. I stepped off the path and into the spring sunlight. I bet nobody noticed me, Jessica Fry, standing alone. I leaned against the side of the 8th-grade building with my heavy backpack between my scrawny, 5’4” frame and the brick wall. Almost the entire school population flowed steadily along the sidewalk just two feet away from me, and not one person looked in my direction. Jessica Fry: short, ugly, nobody. I raised my chin toward the blue sky, closed my eyes and felt the yellow sun lighting my face, warming me up. And, for just an instant, I didn’t feel so bad. The one-minute bell rang. The courtyard jumped to [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Catch by Diana Corbin</title>
		<link>http://twohawksquarterly.com/2008/05/20/catch/</link>
		<comments>http://twohawksquarterly.com/2008/05/20/catch/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 20 May 2008 01:01:28 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>AULA Editor</dc:creator>
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		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://aulapress.wordpress.com/?p=369</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Mom always wished for the moon for everyone else and settled on dirt for herself. Take Dad. He was gone for months at a stretch even before he ditched us for his new family. Each time he left, he would come back about the time Mom, my little brother, Simon, and I almost forgot he existed. He’d have his clothes shoved in an Adidas duffel bag. His shoulders would straighten out by the second day, about the time Mom’s started to sag. Dad was barely taller than Mom, but you thought he was even bigger since Mom hunched so much around him. The last time he got home, he sank down into living room sofa with his work boots on the coffee table right in front of Mom. Dried mud clung to those boots from moving soil downtown. The hair on his chin was longer and grayer than the last time I saw him. When his friends showed up to watch the game, they ate up the chips Mom set out, wiped their salty fingertips on the needlepoint pillows and gulped beer until the air got thick and foam hung from their mustaches like puss. Dad’s grin sagged from the [...]]]></description>
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