We Sent Your Car to Live On a Farm
Last year, it got towed while I was in line at the DMV on my birthday.
Last year, it got towed while I was in line at the DMV on my birthday.
You’ll see where this is going. The whole plants-as-metaphor thing is tired, I know, but it’s potent.
I like imagining an entire life from a list of names, suggesting weeks and weeks of research team meetings and emails and happy hours.
His twig-thin waist cannot support his bulging, leafy muscles.
We begin the same way.
What were they going to do, take me to urgent care to hear, “Mmm sorry, it’s broken but also…it’s a toe?”
There isn’t much I’ve enjoyed more recently than watching Clive—Clive Snails Lewis, to give him his full title—wrap his slimy self around a carrot.
But I will say that—for me—being confined to my home has sometimes felt liberating in a small and quiet way.
Out of the corner of my eye, a grey bolt of lightning shot out from behind the gothic-style church on the corner across from North Quad.
Why would I give up my dog?