Waiting for Cronut
At 6 am I am standing in a line that stretches along the gates of Vesuvio Playground, a small urban park on the corner of Spring Street and Thompson Street in Soho. At 6:30 am, a CBS news van pulls up to the corner across the street. A young brunette woman and her cameraman jump out of the van and sprint into action. Panorama shots of the line are taken.
by Lovia Gyarkye on
Sweet Rituals
I don’t remember when my sister and I began baking cookies together, but soon it was a permanent fixture, the ritual of our childhood. Every Monday at seven o’clock, our mother would drop me and Cecily off at our father’s house.
by Olivia Lloyd on
Malik, Not Samuel L.
On Monday, February 10, the Daily Princetonian published an article about senior football captain Caraun Reid’s accomplishments and his opportunity to play in the NFL. The article relayed that Caraun is a special talent, but the photograph accompanying the article was not of Caraun from this fall’s victory over Yale, but of me jumping in the air.
by Malik Jackson on
Carbon Copy
Breaking your face is not like breaking your arm or your leg. Granted, I have never broken my arm or my leg so maybe I am just falsely assuming things here, but I can only imagine that when you break those parts of your body, it’s more of a functional issue than anything else.
by Caresse Yan on
I’ve a Feeling You’re Not in Kansas Anymore
t’s 4 am and your mind is in Kansas City in 2004 when you made this Geocities webpage in the living room of that house on 91st Street, and you are not crying. Your page is called modernart.html, because not much has changed in the last decade, but you used to put two spaces in between sentences, so things are looking up.
by Andrew Sondern on
All Grown Up
Earl Sweatshirt looks so young. His baby face bears a sparse mustache I associate with high school boys trying to prove they’ve hit puberty, and he’s swallowed by an oversize Yankees jersey. Maybe it’s just because I’m so close to the stage, and to other people he seems older than his nineteen years.
by Isabel Henderson on
Cock Blocking
A justification for the unglamorous, unpopular, but all too necessary role of the cock blocker.
by Emily Lever on
Eyes on the Skies
To telescope is to slide concentric components within themselves, to shrink sequentially, to densen. It is also a means of interstellar discovery, of flooding, of applying pressure. In the succeeding entries, we telescope the weather by precipitating and saturating our memories. Each succeeding memory of a series is composed in exactly half the number of words of the previous. Condense with us.
by Angela Cafferty, Catalina Trigo, Dayton Martindale, Margaret Spencer, Rachel Stone, Sophie Parker-Rees, Zahava Presser on
Forget Me Not
It was my freshman year of high school, and I was at my first Model UN conference, walking out of the dining room of the Hilton hotel where the conference was being held. I had just finished lunch with my friends and was heading back to my committee room, when I saw a face I hadn’t seen in several years. My best friend from grade school was getting onto the escalator in front of me. I started slapping my high school friend, Margaret, in excitement. I pointed to my old friend and whispered loudly, “I went to elementary school with that guy!”
by Rachel Bergman on
The Male Gaze
As I sat in the darkness of the Black Box theater, the words of Maude, Julianne Moore’s character in The Big Lebowski, echoed through my head. I did not know what to expect from these mysterious Vagina Monologues. As a man, I was prepared to be confronted, prepared to be unwelcome
by Malcolm Steinberg on
Ovum
There are always eggs at my house. Well, I’ll clarify that—there are always eggs somewhere around my house. Usually the hens are obedient and lay in their nest boxes, but they love to hide their work from us. Occasionally we’ll pull hay bales from the barn to find a cache of eggs tucked in a corner, like the work of a lazy Easter bunny. Sometimes they have been there for years; when we were younger, my siblings and I would throw them against trees deep in the woods, where their sulfur was overwhelmed by the smell of pine.
by Isabel Henderson on
Decisions, Decisions
I felt a pleasant warmth as I skied down the side of a Pennsylvania mountain, gliding to a stop at the bottom of the slope as my dad pulled up behind me. Together we waited in a short line and then boarded a slow-moving chairlift. As it carried us up the side of the mountain, we chatted about our past run and took in the pristine snow-covered sights.
by Rachel Zuckerman on