A few minutes before tip-off, Gorilla stretches in the locker room—he’s no longer allowed to stretch on the court, not since an... more
Kilpatrick on the artist’s political responsibilities (these are apparently multiple): Hate has more borders than I can muster into the capability of a vision. That’s why I scream in short bursts.
for Rachel Corso
Have you tried all our salsa flavors before?
This is mild (not medium), this is... more
“Be a sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make... more
Sometimes she fears her new husband is her old husband. In her mind the two take up the same space and linger in the same places.
My new friend interrupted me to say, “You seem like you live like a real artist.”
My new friend had already been twice published by The New Yorker.
I thought maybe she had confused me with herself.
For all the hours we’ve spent with strangers, all the conversations and shared stories, we ask no one’s name—until now.
Kneeling on cement, the lifelike nutz dangling in her face, Daniela tried to work the screwpin out of the anchor shackle, but she was unable to unjam it from the lughole, her press-ons flexing dangerously against the hitch.
There are five categories for hurricanes; most of the buildings here were built to withstand categories one and two.
Let the okra go to waste, steal oranges from the
corner store. I'll tell you that... more
No one is going anywhere, he says. You will sleep here tonight.
"And look, I can just barely fit my arm through the wound. It's not that big."
Two teenagers are living in my house this summer, and neither has read The Catcher in the... more
Pierce Brosnan only has so much time left. He doesn’t know it yet, but this will be his... more
“Ah, so you’ve had an ordinary life,” she said.
No one itches for spring like Ellis Ives itches for spring. Just watch him when the mesquite start to bud.
[Previously on... Part 5 | Part 4 | Part 3 | Part 2 | Part 1]
Standing next to the homie Marge on the vast lawn full of Lana fanatics in flower crowns and Pepsi-Cola tee shirts I did not feel at home
In which we listen to ourselves being recounted in the mouth of the boyfriend
To recover from the grand wizard of empathy’s commencement speech, I have since camped at grocery stores, when I can afford them, awaiting the flotation device of my college degree’s supposed intellectual extenuation of the human gridlock.
The people in my workshop suggested the stories were detailing co-dependency. From my position of fiction writer I laughed and nodded in agreement so as not to appear too sentimental towards the material. I thought of my classmates as boring and responsible and generic, and reasoned that they couldn’t understand the characters’ interactions because they were only limitedly tolerant of anything eccentric—
the defining experience of Western women today is internal conflict
On our way to Denver, Peter got us into an accident after we were diverted from the interstate by a roadblock for a bad accident.... more
