This whole dream is some elaboration of a meme I saw on Instagram before going to bed where a woman hands a man a fish, and he asks for a plastic bag, and she says, “it’s already inside.”
Every time you slice into the canon, girls rush out like ghosts.
My coworker and I were sitting in a park in SoHo, eating lunch on our break. “Should I be offended that this guy asked me to get him onto the Shitty Media Men list?” she asked.
A woman I do not know holds the door for me as she’s leaving the restroom, a measure of politeness I was not expecting. I put my phone away and notice the slogan typeset across the front of her T-shirt: MEN HAVE MADE A LOT OF BAD ART.
The only thing more alien than our relationship with one another is the one we have with nature.
“We’re programmed to think that New York exists in some lofty, realizing-our-dreams sort of place,” he told me. “But really it’s right there at street level.”
A kind of loving waterboarding.
Carel Rowe and Ferd Eggan were amateur filmmakers looking to film their wedding night and sell it to repay some debts.
Pursuit is everything. The struggle is everything. The achievement is hardly ever satisfying.
What struck me about the cards wasn’t their flagrant objectification of women; sadly, that’s not very striking. Rather, it was their cuteness.