biovignette

carissa

The girl sitting next to me on the subway had the whimsically short cut I had admired since realizing, at the age of twelve, the unreachability of Disney princess hair, and she seemed past the point of defending it. Her corduroy jacket looked refashioned from an old carpet bag, and when asked, she said that she worked in “textiles.” She looked the sort of artist who would never claim to be one. She looked like my long-lost friend. Continue reading

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biovignette

david

Bokeh light dots in the enameled mirror corners where they smile at one another, at themselves. Black clothes like posh Europeans, bundled against cold and all they weren’t saying to one another: define hipster (on a coffee-drugged night like this, so young and lipsticked, thick with gel and expectations, does it matter?); define the relationship (who are we two, eating pizza with Indians and wishing to see Maya Angelou and picking one another up out of the mud without words?) Continue reading

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