Of Gift Horses and Thumbs
I baptize my dishes with Aldi Power Force soap and elbow grease; they rise spotless and ready for a new life back in the cupboard.
I baptize my dishes with Aldi Power Force soap and elbow grease; they rise spotless and ready for a new life back in the cupboard.
Please, please do not ask me to play Taco Cat Goat Cheese Pizza. I don’t care what the cat or the goat or the pizza is doing.
From fall ‘22 to spring ‘23, it felt like everyone on campus and their cousin was listening to Noah Kahan.
I’m keeping you guessing—which means I’m cool.
I know, I know, they’re landfill plastic and a waste of energy. But their golden glow frames my windows, making the pitch darkness at 6 p.m. less disturbing and almost cozy.
I wonder if driving isn’t transportation’s equivalent of scrolling: too much input, too quick to remember more than a fraction of it.
University of South Carolina, not United States Chicken
“KPop Demon Hunters” makes me realize how often I mistake other broken people for my real Foe.
I began to wonder what it’d feel like to stop and ask myself if I really wanted to go the extra mile.