QUERY 5: About half the time, your APOSTROPHES and your QUOTATION MARKS don’t curl around the way they should— “ or ” , not " , and ‘ or ’ , not ' —which is how I know you are writing half of all your articles on your cellphone.
If you’ve ever been asked to place your anxiety on a litmus test of 1-10 and have no idea what a 10 would constitute, then you know how jarring and disconnected this question could be. I thought about running away from the office, I thought about knocking over one of her plants
Later at night she looked by the fires of Ohio at the burn on her palm
She says the moon is just an overflowing ashtray with butts buried in the dark side.
In the staff meeting she thought about enemas.
Only someone whose amazing art can no longer hide them from the petty philanthropy hopefully juxtaposing the asinine incest of their crimes would issue such a dollar bill of a sentence.
Fourteen tourists had signed up for “Six Days in Glorious Vienna: Open Plan,” and since Kotoko and I were the only singles in the group, it was inevitable that we ended up rooming together at the hotel.
In nearly every used book—bought, borrowed, or salvaged—I’ve found them.
You all don't seem too keen on fiddling here with bloody Henry.
I look down Rue Acorn. Along the red brick factory I live in. And at first all I see are parked cars. Shadows. And the slow moving Sunday traffic farther up the block. Along Rue Saint-Rémi.
You were right, I tell myself with confidence, there are no fucking fallen dogs out here. Just a sack of rice or side of beef. Plain and simple.
I’ve been told, he said, you can make a house out of magazines. Roll them up and seal them in something and stack them up in a grid formation. There are supports, of course. Has to be a framework.
I was drunk and coked up and thought it’d be a good idea to cut through some strange wooded area. Then I was completely underwater.
I tell you I wish my dad would come out as trans like Caitlyn Jenner &/or late-in-life gay like my ex-boyfriend’s father.
Every night since she stays in, thumbing the wheel. She burns napkins and cotton swabs. She burns whatever she can find.
Our friend Stacy Kranitz, who is a (super talented) photographer, invited Scott and me to go to Skatopia’s 20th Anniversary Bowl Bash in June. Of course, we said yes. Here is
Sometimes my brother would randomly run through the house saying the outsiders sat perched in the trees, they had guns aimed at every window in the house, and we’d run to the basement and whisper our last words to each other in the hiding cabinets
Being human is about: what’s unobtainable today?
When I met Magic on 188th and Valentine, he pulled a quarter from behind my ear. Most guys didn’t try that hard.
We were sitting on the shores of the Atlantic, waiting for the wind to change and the black flies to get blown back out to sea when the plane went down.
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 activist group called it a prolonged obscene gesture—and he is beset by
