It’s 4 in the morning and you’re pulling at my bedsheets again. I’d like to think I’m the boulder willing river water into a million little Vs, the shapes of teeth on parted lip, buzzing. In my memory, you appear … Read More
Dear Lecherous Lecturer Precious Professor, Happy winter. I heard you’re in Vail? Hope the slopes are not destroying your knees. I’m reeling from the news that you gave a D to my son Robert “Torie” George Junior (I abstain from … Read More
“He knew that feeling, his lungs filling up with the glycerin-like fluid of a new day, and himself gargling and grasping for regular air, the air in his bed, the air with the windows closed. He felt small, and had tried imagining other people’s windows, but felt weird because he couldn’t comprehend the number of windows in the world.”
“Unlike the classic chicken breast, however, the cuy goes from farmhouse to fridge to spit to butcher block to plate in a way that is probably more humane, yet also more graphic, and thus more disturbing. Guinea pigs are cute; cuy, as it turns out, is tasty.”