A living room, Sunday afternoon. From down the hall, we hear the sound of a shower. It ceases.
VOICE: (from within, disbelieving) I still smell!
Shower noise resumes.
February 15-25, 2014
If you are tall and polite, you will stick yourself into miscellaneous slots so that shorter persons are ensured access to official handholds.
Sometimes even just rely on the friction of my palm laid flush against the ceiling. You’re welcome, shorties.
"I’ve already listened to the album teaser 10,000x."
Hey someone just made Frank Ocean listenable.
"How is our garbage always full?"
Very amusing, the rich Italians always say now when they’re here. Or else, Not very amusing.
By the time the old couple moved to the suburbs, she had become flatly, almost by reflex, ornery. He was a sort of engine of cliché. “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” he might say, over his brandy. And she would reply, without hesitation, “Yes it was.”
Renata Adler, Pitch Dark
Noy Holland /// Swim for the Little One First
I’ve come up with entirely too many analogies to explain my nagging dissatisfaction with most of the Lish school, so I’m not sure why I keep coming back to it, but here’s another: some pretty grains of sand and no beach.