Twenty-two years and some number between one and 365 days before this article was published, I, William Pinke, bungee-jumped out my mother’s womb and into the world, a mindless, hairless, obese blank slate. I was given only four things that day: my name, my brain, my body, and a blanket. Since then, I have carried each through every stage of my development, but of the four only my name has remained unchanged.
Blind Guy sits on park bench, looks out, the day reacts: A Man jogging by with his buxom new Bride envies a Widower, lonely old fat— propelled by gravity, on a skateboard he glides sips a milk-shake, hits a hidden … Read More
One of my primary goals on my family trip to China just before school started this year was to get some cool art for my room. Walking down the aisles of the antique market in Beijing, I had a feeling … Read More
You are so thirsty. You may even be dehydrated. Scorching was the summer that just past, and wet classes and wet friendships are not yet arrived. But relief is near. For if you are reading the Nassau Weekly—and we surmise that you are reading the Nassau Weekly—you are about to become rather damp.