The man in front of the ice cream store is covered with tattoos: stars and planets orbit his wrists, a bouquet of roses blooms
an abridged biography of Shirley Jackson One night in the middle of another drunken party—the usual parade stepping over cats and trash, the
I am eating my ancestors. —Charles Simic, “To All Hog-Raisers, My Ancestors” Let’s assume it happens, that the broccoli we eat