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I was born on a Wednesday, in middle of a chapuzón.

The sudden squall of sky water bears little resemblance to a thunderstorm – it’s more like a vertical flood, though very brief.

I considered Chapuzón for my luchador name – I had poured out of my mother with the same fulminating relentlessness and washed her into the hereafter – but fate took a hand, and the name is still available to anyone who wants to design its mask and come up with some signature moves…

Short story in Fat Girl in a Strange Land, Crossed Genres, 2012; out of print.

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