The hospital was uptown on First Avenue, big, pale, and brand new, its atrium lobby with windows two stories high. Ivy held her son’s hand crossing bright squares on a white floor.
Soon the first cars will arrive for Mass. I can picture them floating down the streets of our city, this suburb of Los Angeles populated by gladsome old people and families with small children and a murky middle swath to which my husband...
The King’s Cross streets are loaded, Thursday night miniskirts and Chelsea boots, pastel Hackett polo shirts and Stone Island wear, people coughing the odd virus or two in my direction.
Not long after Stewart vowed to delete Grindr and Jack’d and every other dating app he’d ever downloaded, Anders Nyberg emailed to say he’d moved back to Maine and would be coming down to New York for three days.
The pilot and I stayed at a cheap, extended-stay lodge by the small-craft airport during the first six months we were together. I was really young. Twenty-two. About to turn twenty-three, but I was just twenty-two.
Back then, I spent my hours at church studying the trails of His varnished blood and the seepage of His emaciated gut. The crucifix hung high above the celebrant’s chair, and the ribs looked so sharp they could cut.
As a child I often woke up next to her in her bed, somehow teleported there during the night. I’d lie very still and watch car-light shadows rove from wall to ceiling to wall. She snored with grinding constancy, as if some terrible snarl...
I didn’t recognize you when I saw you because you looked exactly the same as you did in 2017 and it was absurd that you wouldn’t have changed at all. I assumed you were someone from outside of my life until your forehead turned red like it...
