I call it 子供丼 (kodomo-don), because it is only egg over rice. Something about it is simple, one rank lower in maturity than an adult dish.
The doctor said she knew in the first five minutes. In eighteen years of schooling and thirty-nine years on the planet, no one else had ever noticed.
New responsibilities clogged up phone lines and changed what used to be lifelines—how were we supposed to maintain our relationships?
D. B. Cooper is immortal because he only lived for a couple of hours, from the time he boarded the Boeing 727 until the time he jumped out of it.
Superman whomst? Lois Lane outsold.
There was always a feeling of limitless potential at the 99 Cents Store.
Maybe at the end of my conscious existence, my body would be useful as nutrients.
I had to imagine an environment in which theater-making and parenting could not only coexist, but nourish and inform one another.
In adolescence, weekend lunches meant fending for ourselves. On certain Saturdays, my sister and I ate wafu spaghetti together.
They were a two-sided awakening for me; a bi-panic-inducing pairing.
In the midwest food desert I grew up in, there are higher standards for what we wear than what we eat.
My preoccupation with suicide was less about actually dying and more about grappling with my own sense of agency in the world.