At Granta, Eliza Robertson imagines a maenad from Greek mythology as a listless California nymph in a supremely weird and imaginative story:
They light Nag Champa incense and sit on the Moroccan floor cushions they bought instead of a couch. Though she normally finds comfort in their living room, tonight it feels like a poorly attended party from the 1970s—all the barefoot women with center parts gone to find better drugs.
