“Everytime I looked down at my cigarette, it was just as long as it had been the last time I checked. She then moved on to telling me about her internship.”
“These days, learning a language feels particularly significant and necessary. Learning a language: a small multiplication of life in a world of multiplying death.”
I’m moving offline. I really mean it this time. After writing this essay on a cloud-connected word processor, you’ll never see me surfing these waves again.
That girl walks for thirty minutes at twelve incline and three speed on the treadmill while drinking one of her goal-three Stanley-cup tumblers of water and journals when she’s out of the shower where she shaved her underarms and legs and vulva with a vanilla bodyscrub.
“By the eighth day words had begun to fail me. I thought in silent images. It was hot. We ate greedily, excessively, grilled meat on the bone, whole fish smiling up from the table, savory noodles prepared in cold sesame sauce with fresh cucumber. I sat around for hours after lunch feeling uncomfortably full.”
“You didn’t talk to me today. And I suppose I didn’t say anything either. So I searched for an excuse for you to remember me, wondering what I could possibly ask.”
“What about sex reduces the male brain to a pile of mush? Are these the leaders of the next generation? The very best of our future investment bankers and Raytheon interns? We’re doomed.”
