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  Membrane Boy's parents have separated, pending divorce. They speak through him, as if shouting through a sealed porthole. "Remind Frank to pick you up at six." "Tell Linda a little junk food won't kill you." He relays all this as if he were a Marconi operator working Cape Race. Membrane Boy arrives home to find his mother in bed, all vials empty. He dials 911. "Man the lifeboats. Stop. Position 700 nautical miles east of Halifax. Stop." The 911 operator answers: "Tell your father not to have his bimbo there." "Tell your mother to stop playing the martyr." Stop. Membrane Boy's mother is a berg, his father a double hull. Trapped crew members bang hammers on the side, A dead stoker smiles at the boy, his eyes blank. "You have your whole future ahead of you, son," says the dead stoker. "Full steam ahead," calls the Captain. The lifeboats are lowered, their wood between sea and air. The ship lists, the lifeb

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