Last Monday evening I was half-watching WWE Raw, my attention divided between theatrical combat and a persistent moth circling my living room lamp. The moth kept banging against the lampshade, over and over,
I found myself stuck in traffic yesterday—a mundane scenario familiar to anyone living within commuting distance of civilization—when I noticed how frantically I kept checking my watch.1 Each glance reinforced
Last weekend, I attended a house party—one of those performatively casual gatherings where music plays just loud enough to justify not talking to anyone while simultaneously preventing any conversation requiring less than
You arrive in Los Angeles not as a tourist, not even as a pilgrim, but as someone trying to find out where the bodies are buried. You’ve heard the stories. You’ve
I sat at my desk, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the call button. The contact name of an old mentor glowed on screen. My finger remained frozen between action and retreat, while
