Life as Fiction, Part I

Halfway through my eighteenth year, I left school and headed out to Manhattan. My uncle lived in a two bedroom apartment on the Upper West Side where he kept his dog happy with lots of caviar. He was a handsome, rich man but without a wife. As a pioneer in the field of chaotic dynamics, he had won scholarships and been awarded a significant amount of money. But he and I were a lot alike: Alone and empty.

2 minute read   ·  12/ Cylindrical Living

Everything is Good

i was pushing a shopping cart at a safeway and i hit some old lady and she got pissed off at me. i was like only eight or something but she didnt care and when she saw me again she yelled at my parents and told them i was a bad kid and that my parents were bad parents.

1 minute read   ·  12/ Cylindrical Living