What’s Next, Mandolin Lessons?
I went vegetarian almost six years ago. It started as a refusal to put my money into the meat industry and, once I lost the taste for burgers and sausages, it turned into a permanent habit.
I went vegetarian almost six years ago. It started as a refusal to put my money into the meat industry and, once I lost the taste for burgers and sausages, it turned into a permanent habit.
We joked about casseroles and politeness and the American Midwest. Then he asked me how I like Cologne.
The woman in the white sedan will go home, call her best friend, and say: “I started crying in the drive-thru today, and they gave me extra napkins.”
Its branches bloomed with little white, fuzzy pearls that I thought were baby rabbits being born.
“All the lonely people / where do they all come from? All the lonely people / are they actually as lonely as they look or are they just having a bad day?” – Paul McCartney and me
I’ve never quite understood the call of the West, a siren song so strong that some will risk—and lose—their lives to follow it.
I reach for something on the floor, feel a breeze on my chest, and we both realize why the shirt has been so long closeted. “Oh,” I say. “Damn.”
Here I am, commuting by car into the big city. Here I am, one half of a white couple in an immigrant town. Here I am, trying to live honestly in an unfamiliar place, with imagination and empathy.
“When I’m feeling tired, when I’m feeling upset, when I don’t want to get out of bed, you know what I say? I. Love. My. Life.” She paused, looked at us, and yelled, “I LOVE MY LIFE!”
Third shift at a hotel is a unique experience. I get to see the raw, unvarnished self of people. The truth behind their public façade.