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Women & Menexpand_moreThe excursion brought shape to that entire scruff-covered summer.
They met on the app in April, shortly after her twenty-ninth birthday.
Oh, how did people do it? How did they find some way to be happy?
Our spirits are as transparent as the gown my wife wears in bed.
The first time she’d touched his body, it had been like going back in time.
Part of my desire to be in London related to its writers.
Those moments are all I want. I want a life of this. He sighs and I sigh.
Jennifer Haigh
“I want to stay in real yurts,” I said, “not yurts for Westerners.”
Pushing by the man, he ran down the street towards the station.
“Can’t you see Hemingway’s having breakfast with his grandson?”
Blacked-out little angel, you shuffle home under the streetlights.
It’s other things than the like of you would make a person afeard.
The old-timer outside the guard station was knifing his own tires.
He picked up the knife I had there, and said he’d kill me if ever I told.
I am a pornography of small promises, the chugging gin of the universe.
He thought about kissing her. Then he decided that she was just lonely.
I wondered if the coyotes and deer were mourning the loss of Steve.
She looked over through the falling snow. “Jack?” she said. “Is that you?”
It is February in Ukraine. Juliana tells the reporter she just wants to live in her country.
May your wife remove her shirt and have an affair with a tornado.
The scent of lighter fluid and tobacco drifted in through the window.
Let those shadows sift the spirits of their children from the silt.
My wife fell in love with a dancer. A woman. I came here to get away.
The neighbors were Ukrainians with bad tempers and owned guns.
She sips the coffee and thinks about throwing herself off the balcony.
At nineteen I lived for three months as an earnest cocaine addict.
Who cared about a whiff of male exertion and motor oil? Not Lana.
Don’t start conversations or attract attention. Don’t be suspicious.
I’d done what no woman of my race and social station had ever done.
