"I still painted on occasion, or at least stood at the easel and watched my brush hand twitch. It made for an odd, jerky style I hoped would get noticed some day. I never confessed this last part to [my wife]. Our intimacy was largely civic. We spoke at length about our shared revulsion at the almost briny-scented, poop flecked plunger under the bathroom sink, and also of a mutual desire to cut down on paper towels, but we never broached topics like hopes, or dreams. Hopes were stupid. Dreams required quarantine" - The Ask, Sam Lipsyte
Posted on: Thu, 18 Jul 2013 05:45:39 +0000
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