Recently, I resolved to attend more lit readings. What I didn’t realize is that such proactivity can be lethal. Or almost.
A girl who lives across the hall from me subscribes to Time Out New York and never reads it. She lets it rot on the floor beneath her mailbox. “Pick me!” it squeals, every time I walk through the front door. “Give me a home and not just a shelter!” Sometimes I do, and feel a little bit guilty, before I’m reminded of all the nasty things the girl’s roommate tells me about its neglector. “I have to lock my booze in my room!” she seethes about the girl’s sticky fingers.
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