I am told I was a happy, mischievous kid who smeared peanut butter on walls. Insatiably curious, I would sit down next to strangers on buses and start up conversations. I have heard that I liked to make people laugh. I don’t remember any of this.
Our hair and every piece of clothing we owned were impregnated with the stench of smoke—we stank of smoke—but we didn’t care, because we loved smoking.
The words surrounding an “I” form sentences that can be referred to as “I Lines.” A person knows how to be an “I” before they know what an “I” is.
Looking for book recommendations? To celebrate the end of the year, the MAYDAY editorial staff shares the books they read and revisited in 2021.
Is a family portrait still a family portrait when a family is missing the mother?
“I was pimped out by an acquaintance when I was at my most vulnerable. It may come across I’m cavalier with this, but I’m not. I’ve just let the shame of it all go.”
What killed him has been excised from the obituary. It exists in the blank space along the margins. Because it is easier to say died than overdosed.
For two weeks I wish Marta dead. With every breath I take in. I am not proud of this.
Within our disorienting, indefinite pandemic, the lonesome invisibility of retail workers has become ironized by their initial hyper-visibility.
She placed a cup of the hot elixir on the counter before me. On the surface of the cup little dragonfish swirled around like visual laughter. I felt my stomach tighten and my heart speed up. Here we go . . .