Barista: Is whole milk fine with that?
Wife: Yes, please.
Husband: Skim.

A few things Americans might be missing about November’s general election

Vignettes on an enigmatic Polish woman and the Boston area cafe she runs.

“I love truth — as I once wrote in my homework). I soon learned to compromise by articulating smaller truths when I couldn’t articulate bigger ones.”

Thoughts on filmic solitude from a solitary Nass writer in Portugal

Exercises in wearing yourself out and–actually–getting some writing done

Ten of our top picks (plus a couple honorable and dishonorable mentions)

twenty minutes from the center of the city once rice fields that my grandmother admired each morning whispering to dragonflies in the cup of her palm squint at night and see cold stars tearing away the horizon motorcycles and black clouds. in our kitchen, my mother cuts her finger unwrapping three layers of stiff…

“This summer I’m remembering how real my flesh is. When I was a kid everything was tactile and I just wanted sugar and didn’t think abstractly.”
My summer vacation felt like a body. Mine felt like a river. It’s generally useful to build up a number of unreasonably applicable metaphors that seem to withdraw profundity from just about everything. It’s the only way you’ll produce what we could call meaning from something as acrid and mercurial as summer. You can best…

A much celebrated and reviled Nass tradition. To telescope, writers write a brief 300 word piece on a theme (this year, “melt”). Then, a 150 word piece. Then, 75 words. Then, 37 and a half. You’ll see.


A Nass alum on the late-night, wine-fueled energies that continue to power the magazine

A Second Look contributor profiles an English professor who really needs no introduction

“Don’t you think that things can be made special by being indescribable? That there’s a certain divinity in that?”

A Nass Contributor, who does not speak French, attends this year’s screenings
Barista: Is whole milk fine with that?
Wife: Yes, please.
Husband: Skim.