The Arrest, in all its surreal narrative trappings, supercars, and Hollywood theatrics, wants to know if words can save us in a dystopia.
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Bermuda grass is a weed, in my mind. Something unwanted, with a root system extending 35 feet down into the bowels of the wash that runs through my neighborhood. A friend told
My sister has been to Vauxhall. Of course she has. She’s been everywhere in London. When she was drunk one night, she told me what men do together on the dark and
What happens inside this high school classroom is the one thing she promises never to write about.
Eddie brushes his teeth with the bathroom door open, watching the television in the living room. “Sixth inning,” Vince Scully says. “Full count, nobody out.”
Walking home around 4PM last fall, I spotted a can in the middle of the sidewalk. Strikingly silver and apparently full, since it wasn’t blown over. No logo, no nutrition facts, no
It’s easier and faster to cross into Mexico on foot. Park on the U.S. side, tuck a passport into a pocket, and walk about a mile down a dusty road, toward the
An hour before our dinner with my principal, Mr. Blorenge, I was in a froth, shouting from the bathroom at Donatella. I’d been recommended, against my will, for a promotion.
All of them had personalities that announced themselves when they entered a room, that took up an enormous quantity of space, that made everyone want to straighten their unwilling spines. This would
Jon Riccio interviews Robert Carr about his new book, The Unbuttoned Eye.
This get-together is entirely brunette and liquid and will pass right through us like bright lights or cheap liquor.