Ivy League Hopper: Harvard dining hall food is so bad. My heart longed for RoMa.
Cynic: Beggars versus choosers.
Ivy League Hopper: Harvard dining hall food is so bad. My heart longed for RoMa.
Cynic: Beggars versus choosers.


“Uma sensed someone approaching—a short man, old enough to be her grandfather, in an all-white ensemble. “Would you like to dance with me?” he asked with the forward politeness of a smooth talker who knew how to get his way.”


Whether or not I press play, the tape rattles on; some days, I just hear it in my mind— wandering about by the side of the road, looking, out, out, for a nice place to sit down and witness the reservoir’s slow metamorphosis into sludge. Other days? No. Other days, I pull out The tape…
A Nass writer on leaving—a place, an identity, and Sanna, an endangered Cypriot Maronite language.

On the one enduring truth—everything changes, everything ends.

Lightning and thunder reassert themselves in static blinding booms. Boom. Storm shorts out the grid, so together we hunt for batteries. In the sudden blackness, I scour and squint until you become a soundwave streak of yellow twitching unlike an insulated wire. Jagged nerve. Warm. Salt crust spills from our cheap, plastic shelves…

On literature, illness, and the consequences of aesthetic meditation.
Pick up a copy around campus, or view the full design here!

Dear friends, Change is in the air. All stones are unturned. Feeling a certain itching to explore. Fixtures seem like illusions now, walls seem eerily thin. Doors are deceptive, words are viscous. Oratory was invented for dubious matters, but we try our best not to lie in this magazine. This street holds its secrets like…


“I could see its lonely gray body clearly now; it was a heron. We stared at one another for a long time.”

On May 13, 2026, Princeton alumnus Ford Graham ‘86 was sentenced to 33 months in federal prison for orchestrating three investment schemes. His criminal charges only scratch the surface.

From here the mountain looks like moss, but there are worse things that could look like moss. Bodies, for one. The first time passing most things, I did not know they could be looked at. God, I was so proud. I thought I was pure movement. Like I could prove the world’s ugliness…

“Mira giggled without looking at Grandmother in the face. She looked like a child angel, her face haloed by the light that shone through the open front door.”