i feel as if i could write an intergenerational graphic novel. something something about how my father came to the u.s.

When your home is built near a highway, you witness all the different ways people try to escape this brutal, smattering thing called living. In an explosion. Plunged into a car. Over the overpass. Once, on your ninth birthday, a…

There is no skin left. No muscle. No accessible anatomy whatsoever. Just two gleaming shells shut tight.

there is no formality between us; i hope you know that. you know that right? Her throat tightened, and a lump rose. She was tired of weeping like a baby at the tiniest occurrences of kindness as if she had…

It was appropriate to laugh. She laughed. He seemed younger than that to her, somehow, and also older. During the first date, when he’d slipped off his hat at one point and turned so his legs extended out from under…