I am completely nonplussed at the idea that it is even possible not to be “interested” in “the news.” It’s the main thing going on, no? There is also so much of it.
15 years ago a dance craze swept through my hometown, and me with it.
I’m angry because our lives are increasingly meted out in pockets of time, and I want it to stop.
In 1916, when this story began, there were only a few Mayers: mad, hysterical, independent, interesting women—alone in their time.
The drizzling stopped a minute or so later.
Once I worked with a baby chimp. Back in the nineties. Never mind why.
The ciondo-selling women were the first women I encountered as business travelers.
Having grown up with hyper-religious black aunties, I knew that when the woman’s teary eyes met mine I was supposed to join her in prayer.
To achieve a transformation adequate to the scale of planetary catastrophe, we will need to stop having firms that are ruled by profit.