What Is It You Plan to Do?
The moment I began to slide, I thought of nothing.
The moment I began to slide, I thought of nothing.
HOW DARE THE SUN SHINE WHEN I FEEL LIKE A PIECE OF TRASH STUCK ON THE UNDERSIDE OF A PARK BENCH THAT HAS BEEN PEED ON BY DOG.
What if the fairy-tale village is not so innocent? What if the destitute mother sues for custody? What if Cinderella seduces the prince?
So, in order to commemorate these tenth Gay Games, I have decided to pen my very own over-the-top, saccharinely sincere Pindaric ode. Let’s hope it’s not, well, terrible.
As if knowing he was a caricature of a human, Grandpa Jack did most if not all of these things with a pipe in his mouth.
I always tried to do the independent thing first—I’ll call my own tow-truck, I’ll look for my own apartment, I’ll find a job, I’ll pick a grad program.
Spend the next four years, and hopefully not eight, dear God hopefully not eight, fighting for those wild and important places.
It’s a typically bustling city now silent and eerie, “Jingle Bell Rock” echoing forlornly down the avenues.