Every one a short story.
Tag: the new yorker
It’s an insignificant thing, it’s a small thing, it’s a hamburger, but it’s not a good one. Suddenly, I look at the hamburger and I find myself in a spiral of depression that can last for days.
I didn’t watch or read any of Anthony Bourdain’s work, but this hit me like a lead wrecking ball.
It’s an insignificant thing, it’s a small thing, it’s a hamburger, but it’s not a good one. Suddenly, I look at the hamburger and I find myself in a spiral of depression that can last for days.
I didn’t watch or read any of Anthony Bourdain’s work, but this hit me like a lead wrecking ball.
Maybe she wasn’t so stupid, naïve. But, then, why had she raised her hand? Why was she waving at the men with guns climbing through the wall? Did she actually think they were there to help? Or could it be that Sue was offering herself, at last making the sacrifice she’d been put on earth to make?
Maybe she wasn’t so stupid, naïve. But, then, why had she raised her hand? Why was she waving at the men with guns climbing through the wall? Did she actually think they were there to help? Or could it be that Sue was offering herself, at last making the sacrifice she’d been put on earth to make?