But golden eras—like edens—end. Even the magic of Prospero’s island, we assume, departs with him, for better or worse. For Sugar Island, much like Prospero’s, the beginning of the final days came with a shipwreck.
broken teeth. lost retainers. crumpled letters written to counselors
and discarded for illegible handwriting. phone lists of
abortion clinics. deflated valentine’s day balloons with
trampled white ribbon. sales ads on bassinette sets.
I do still want to be an art teacher, but maybe like an internet art teacher, you know what I mean? I guess I kind of want to be the black Bob Ross. Actually, I don’t kind of want to, I’m definitely going to be the black Bob Ross. Just not as corny. I mean, even though Bob Ross is a G, he’s kind of corny.
Electronic dance music is to Detroit what tango is to Buenos Aires, or cumbia to Cartagena— in other words, it’s hard to go more than a few blocks on a Friday night without walking through a low bass rumble and the muffled thump of a
That Pontiac was a classic American beauty: a long, wide yellow convertible with sparkling nickel and chrome trim, and gray leather seats with yellow stripes running down the middle.