When I was young and very new to the world, my keeper took me to a place he referred to as the annex, though, since it was not proximate to any other structure, I had a hard time understanding what …
For more years than were good for me, I worked as an editor and staff writer for an art magazine. My co-editor, Jennifer, had a valuable talent for finding humor in the dull routine tasks and …
This would not be the first or last time for either of us. Nor was it my first time trying to reason through it, trying to rationalize the kind of violence that felt everywhere and always and hardly …
I called it posturing, the militant dreamlife I lived here alone with drinking and gratitude and dancing at night in the kitchen with my mother’s ghost.
I looked at Mr. Armindaro’s son, the only other kid my age. He stood next to his father, holding a huge green watermelon over his head. The little hairs of his armpits. He yawned, so I yawned.
I’d found their ad in the weekly. It looked perhaps slightly less suspicious than some other services I’d employed, though unfortunately that wasn’t saying much.
A ship. She’s hanged from the mast. She’s lying on the bed and I’m lying next to her, holding her hand. She talks as though nothing were out of the ordinary.
