Random Drunk Girl: If you cum on my futon, I’ll fucking kill you! Do you hear me? I’m talking to YOU! If you CUM on my FUTON, I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!!
Joe Cermatori: Um… I don’t think I’ll be cumming on your futon any time soon.
(awkward pause)
Girl: What are you trying to say? Are you trying to say I’m ugly?
Joe Cermatori: Ummm… no….
Girl: Are you calling me UGLY?!
Joe Cermatori: No that’s not what I meant.
Girl: Listen, I don’t call you “The Rapist” to your face, do I?
Joe Cermatori: I mean, I’ve never met you in my life.
Girl: Yeah. That’s what I thought. Ya whore.
Overheard outside of Little Hall
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This Street, That Man, This Life: Full Design
Pick up a copy around campus, or view the full design here!
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Letter From The Editor
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…
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The Fugitive Bird
“I could see its lonely gray body clearly now; it was a heron. We stared at one another for a long time.”
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THE FRAUD
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.
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What I don’t understand is the beauty
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…
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GRANDMOTHER’S WISH
“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.”
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Ghazal for March
A fawn pauses from grazing infant grass. In the distance a train shouts, heralding not spring but its weaker twin. I am in love with beginnings but their bliss is not spring. My friends see hips swing & call it funny how I dizzy & praise God after a breakup, cut free to silhouette…
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Letter From The Editor
Dear friends, These days, which have been some of the sweetest of my life, have imbued in me a kind of fear I haven’t felt in a long time, one we certainly all feel when things are unknown and words are unsaid, when past conceptions of futures dissolve and it is as if the…
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NASS LIST: I SURVIVED…
Anthrax The pear of anguish 9 plagues already, how much worse could it get? The homer simpson percocet from the gas station floor A rather tame upbringing My Northern European roommate, Sven Pity from lames So much. I’ve been through so so much. Being 2016 thick at princeton Pop the balloon challenge Nobu but your…
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death is
a shadow between sponge-molded floorboards and marble countertops, a daffodil that’s shrunken flattened against the ground dismissed until dawn breaks, the splitting of an egg yolk running through the little valleys onto the stone kitchen floor drops of yellow, like petals and liquid sunlight spilling in. or is it more secretive, censored until…
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If There Were Water
“I am leaving this letter with Sam, on Adams Street, even though they tell me you don’t come for letters anymore.”